


Ficlets/Fics from my Tumblr journey

by Grain_Crain



Series: Tumblr Asks [4]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Ficlets, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr, fics, prompt, request
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-04-19 18:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 23,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19138093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grain_Crain/pseuds/Grain_Crain
Summary: This is a collection of ficlets and fics that I wrote for requests and asks frommy R6S writing Tumblr blog. This post shall function as an archive in case Tumblr falls to ruins one day by some unpredictable (and yet quite predictable) reasons.





	1. It's Dare (uh) Lesion/Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesion/Smoke written for an anon ;) The requested prompt is “See, now, was that so bad?” with a specific situation where Lesion dares Smoke to do something 'special.'

Should anyone ask Smoke the reason behind his erratic request for a smooch from everybody, they will have to blame the man that he’s currently infatuated with.

* * *

 

Smoke and Lesion had maintained a steady friendship for the past few years, undeniably close and tame in their own zanny ways. They are your usual dinner and hangout kind of boys; yeah, those ones who would have endless banter during breakfast and spend the rest of the evening either lounging around or out for a drink. Smoke the somewhat coherent rambler and Lesion the listener with witty sarcasm. A steady friendship with occasional questionable ‘bromance’ on Smoke’s part, to which he flat out denied accusations of them being an item. Whenever people pointed out how Smoke was acting like a teen in a heat, he would flash a cocky smirk and say something stupid like,

“Cut me some slack. Ladies can’t get enough of me.” He used to say while hooking an arm around his best friend. Lesion also laughed and gave Smoke a nudge, and that’s how people perceived their relationship as. Brothers in arms. They didn’t have to know this was all an act of protection on Smoke’s part because he was aware of Lesion’s situation back in Hong Kong. Being born into a country that has low-tolerance on various kinds of sexual orientation is hard enough already, and Smoke didn’t want to put such a burden on someone who he found a genuine connection with. A weird and convoluted way of being supportive, but cut Smoke some slack, okay? The asshole of a Brit was trying his best in being decent.

See, this would have been a fine and dandy story, possibly a boring one at that. The favourable twist is that his pseudo-flirts started to grow into an unexpected feelings. The kind of blush that Smoke has been hesitant to admit and attempted to hide. Every little brush against their skins or up-close whisper while sharing a joke set Smoke’s nerves on fire. It was as if he really became a teen in a heat, sort of like a peer-fulfilling prophecy rather than himself. It took a while for a dunce like him to understand that perhaps those humorous innuendos bore some meanings rather than jokes on whim. And he wasn’t the only one who noticed the unusual attractions, so Mute and Sledge would occasionally tease Smoke as ‘good’ friends.

“You should straight up tell him about your boner.” Seamus suggested a jest.

“Piss yourself.” Smoke replied with grimace that doesn’t suit him. He knew that honesty is the best policy with a sly wordsmith such as Lesion, and yet there is a concern brewing. Concerns for Lesion’s well-being is the biggest part, but also Smoke had built a reputation as a trickster to the point where his sincerity has lost its credit. Of course Lesion knows Smoke the best out of everybody in this stinking military base, so the man will believe his words as they are.

The question is whether Smoke is ready to face the possibility of losing a good friendship. The answer would have remained as ‘ _heck no’_ if Smoke isn’t consumed with immense yearning for his crush. He wants the private touch. Desperate and animalistic desire spoken through eye contacts and lip-licking, and most of all, endearing moments where they can lay in bed while chatting about what fucks them off and what’s really fucked up at the same time. Fuck it. This isn’t like James Porter, a refined chav to act like an uptight posh porcelain.

Therefore he decides to drop the big bomb tonight, at a weekend gathering where the operators can loosen up by drinking copious amounts of cheap kegs and shots. He won’t get shitfaced for this special occasion, all while knowing that Lesion himself doesn’t drink too much either. Having drunken people around is a mere tool to set the mood at ease; the great out roar and alcohol induced chaos somehow reminds Smoke of the warehouse party he used to sneak in at 1am. Well this time, Smoke is standing next to a man who means more than a one-night stand that his teen-self used to indulge in.

“I think it’ll be the Americans who sleeps on the floor again.” Lesion chuckles as he sips on a bottle of Tsingtao. Smoke is tempted to join their regular banter of poking fun at others, and yet a part of him has an urge to say the words and be done with it. _Here goes everything._

“I think,” Smoke skulls a Corona to moisten his dry mouth, “I think we can sleep together.” _What._

“What?” Lesion repeats the question that Smoke is internally shouting at himself.

“What?” Smoke isn’t here. Only a dumb parrot who is running out of things to say.

“You want us to have a sleep together?” Lesion reiterates in a deliberately slow pace and squints.

“Yeah, well. It’s a proposition. I can tone it down for you if you’re more of a date type of guy.” Smoke finds it a miracle to sound remotely smooth by his standard’ and that’s no way near the eloquence that majority would agree with.

“James,” Lesion puts the bottle down softly, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yeah, sure.” Smoke tames a squeak by pinching his own thigh.

“That gotta be the best joke I’ve heard the entire night.” The way Lesion grins while looking away strikes a nerve in Smoke’s guts. It may not be too late to bail by agreeing with Lesion. Smoke can laugh along and crack another ‘I’m too straight for you’ kind of jest. He shouldn’t really be pursuing after someone when he has been acting as straight as a ruler, and yet the innate desire to replace that pesky toothpick with his tongue overwhelms Smoke’s logic.

“No mate,” Smoke looms over the shorter man, “I am dead serious.”

“Hm,” Lesion looks up intently, eyes searching for sincerity while jaws chewing on his next words, "Then you just pretended to be a high school jock?”

“Well.” Smoke flaps the hem of his shirt and starts to explain why he acted like a womaniser, despite the fact that he doesn’t really care what’s under people’s pants as long as they enjoy what he has to offer. As he continues to talk, more restless Lesion’s toothpick becomes in his teeth.

“So you did it for me,” Lesion takes another sip and leans away from Smoke, “When I didn’t even ask for it.”

“Yup.” Smoke doesn’t know if he should swallow or cough out the big lump in his throat.

“Okay.”

“Oh, okay?” Smoke assumed he needs to explain himself better so he didn’t expect the brisk response from Lesion.

“But I think I’ll really believe you if show me that you aren’t just saying this while being drunk and horny.” There’s the catch. Lesion stays still while chewing on the pesky prick that Smoke feels the urge to thwart away.

“Right. How exactly do I do that?” Smoke contains an excitement. There aren’t many things that fazes this residential lunatic of the barracks. Lesion seems to notice the sudden giddiness from his ‘friend’, so his lips stretch ever so slightly for a little game.

“I dare you to get a smooch from everybody in this room.” An absurd idea and Smoke loves it already.

“You know I’ll do it,” Smoke opens a new bottle of Smirnoff, “And when you say ‘everybody,’ that includes you.”

“I know. So you have to ask everybody else first.” Lesion further explains that it doesn’t have to be mouth-to-mouth to lessen the difficulty.

“What will happen if I don’t succeed?” Smoke asks before he sets off.

“Then we will pretend that this has never happened.” The smile falters from Lesion, which drops another heavy weight on Smoke’s gut. He isn’t sure if Lesion means this hazy night of awkward confession or their friendship as a whole. To think that their bond is at risk over a stupid confession may sound like an unfair loss, but Smoke knows that he had stepped over the boundary by pretending to be the ‘straight’ friend as if that’s the best solution for Lesion.

* * *

 

Therefore he embarks on the journey. The first area to stop by is the SAS table for obvious reasons, and his fellow British comrades immediately understands the reason behind Smoke’s request for a kiss. Mute and Sledge place a smack on the hand as if they are paying a respect towards a royal fool.

“You fuckwit. Go fuck yourself.” Thatcher frowns while kissing on Smoke’s forehead as a form of blessing. That’s a clear and Lesion nods in approval from afar.

The next group is encounter is the Americans and they are all pleasantly intoxicated. Castle, Ash and Thermite proceed to plant a kiss on Smoke’s cheeks; Pulse places a kiss on the same place but more akin to a wet slobber that shudders Smoke to the core. He only assumes that the taller man is piss drunk beyond this plane of existence. Valkyrie kisses on the tip of his nose and Blackbeard begrudgingly follows.

The GIGN complies wordlessly as they have observed the ordeal that Smoke has been causing. Rook shouts something about love being the greatest thing of all and locks Lion’s head for Smoke to rub his hand on those scowling pair of lips.

The Slavs. Their stares are long, cold and most of all, piercing. Smoke wonders if their comprehension in understanding English has diminished due to the copious amount of strong liquour; even more so when Finka gathers his comrades for a secret meeting that’s openly spoken in Russian. The huddle breaks as Tachanka strides towards Smoke all while maintaining the leer.

“A kiss you shall get.”

“Yeah, just on my chee-” Smoke’s suggestion is quick to be muted because Tachanka leans in with such force to leave the most passionate tongue action. The rest of the Spetsnaz follows in similar tradition and the only person who won’t leave a possible bruise on Smoke is Glaz.  

The journey ends with GSG9, a group that’s the hardest to convince. They would have kept dodging the request if Smoke didn’t offer a bribe to buy four kegs of prime beer.

“You can lie and tell Liu that I smooched you.” Bandit shrugs defiantly.

“Come on, Dom. It’s for a good cause.” Blitz chides and he was the first one to kiss Smoke on the cheek. After some more encouragement and a mild threat from IQ, Bandit finally gives in and bumps his mouth on Smoke’s back.

That’s all. Smoke sweeps around the room to check if he missed out on anybody, then he finds out that Lesion is nowhere to be seen. Just as he looks around in desperation, his phone buzzes to notify a single text message that reads,

[I’m outside.]

Hence Smoke walks out while knowing exactly where Lesion would be. The tiny corner spot next to garage shutters, a favourite spot for those who yearns for cigarette breaks. The two usually spend their time there, but it’s mostly Lesion waiting on Smoke to burn a strand of two. As Smoke jogs to the destination, he grimaces at the sight of flickering ember floating in mid-air.

“I thought you quit smoking.” Smoke snatches away the strand that’s half-way gone to cinder.

“Can’t help it sometimes.” Lesion replies as he breathes out a long stream of grey and puts his shaky hands in pockets.

“Well, unlike _somebody_ who doesn’t commit to their own challenge,” Smoke finishes the cigarette while feeling the tingle of an indirect kiss, “I’m nearing to finish the dare.”

“See, now. Was that so bad?” A chuckle that leaves a haunting echo, “Must be easier than quitting smoking.”

“Don’t quit on me yet. I still need to ask you if you would give me a smooch.” The time is nigh. A familiar sense of anxiety creeps back, much worse than an hour before their dare.

“Ask away.” Lesion steps closer, allowing himself to be within Smoke’s reach.

“Alright. Tze Long, can I-” The word hovers on the tip of his mouth, then a thought flashes past and a realisation clicks, “Can I ask you out on a date?”

“Much better.” The confirmation comes in the form of brushing their lips against each other, then a short and chaste connection. Less than what Smoke’s raging downstairs wants, but his brain knows that this is the correct step to start a relationship with someone who’s as cautious as Lesion.

“So you felt the same about me, then?” Smoke tilts his head back to catch Lesion’s eyes.

“You could say that.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” There’s a mixture of joy and disappointment as Smoke realises their feeling has been mutual while being hidden by the other party.

“Would I tell my _straight_ best friend that I think about us rolling on your unwashed mattress that stinks with sweat and questionable stains?” Lesion is quick to put Smoke through the path of shame; in fact, double the embarrassment.

“It doesn’t stink and you know I masturbate in bathroom!” Smoke shifts to hide the obvious tent that’s shrinking at this point, “And I’m sorry for cockblocking us. Are you happy?”

“After seeing you begging for a kiss from almost everybody, yes. I am happy.” Lesion smirks at the rare sight of the crude Brit being bashful. He pretends to ignore the semi in Smoke’s southside and recounts the shock and awe when the Russians were the crew who committed to the truest meaning of smooch. How the FBI might have more decisions to regret tomorrow and the French were the real supporter of those in trouble. Smoke gossips about Thatcher being hypocritical while the man also has the hots for Montagne, and Lesion adds in that the older man might be jealous of Smoke for being so open about his romantic pursuit. The newly established couple maintains their treasured past time that’s been carried on since their friendship, and the only difference is that their fingers are intertwined with one another. An act of intimacy without being conscious about, and yet it’s comfortable and natural as it intends to be. This isn’t so bad. Should there be problems from Lesion’s side of family in the future, Smoke will be there, out and open. They don’t have anything to hide or pretend. They are together and no one, not even Smoke himself, shall disrespect their decision.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is _totally_ not inspired by a certain song by Gorillaz.


	2. 'Ask' Collection (Doc/Lion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are collections of Doc/Lion ficlets that I wrote for asks on certain prompts or questions from 'ask posts.' I will also include the one that I wrote out of inspiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since some of these ficlets are a part of different posts, I will embed the links of original posts in each **sub-headings.**

**10\. How do they let their loved ones know they are dating?**

The GIGN would have an uproar. Twitch was in disbelief, Rook was very surprised and Montagne pretended to be surprised, purely because he was the one who brought them together. How or why? Don’t ask, don’t tell. That is his magic which involves charisma and thoughtfulness.

Doc told Twitch at first and she didn’t believe him. Then Lion said it again. She still didn’t believe until Monty said so. For a while she refused to talk to the three men because it felt like they were hiding a secret behind her back. Then Rook convinced Twitch that it’s their business after all and how Doc would appreciate Twitch’s blessings. So she admitted how rude she acted and apologised. 

When Doc told his family, they were worried about him at first. I imagine Doc’s family to be leaning on the traditional side but they wouldn’t be outright mean to their son. They wish Doc the best and says “we are relieved because you hardly have a time to find someone for you. Now that he is there, you better look out for yourself even more.” They later find out Lion is the one that Doc had been writing/talking bad stuff about, but they are chill. Bygones be bygones and let their future be happy.

Lion hid their relationship for a while. He was disowned before and he didn’t want it to happen again even though it’s very likely to happen. Catholic, rich and strict. He couldn’t even fathom how they will react. Although his has a thick skin, that doesn’t mean that words don’t hurt. On one day he told his parents and their reaction was harsher than he expected. He didn’t know there was a worse expression than being called a degenerate and according to their words, he was declared to be a sinner of the church. Claire was more open about Lion’s new lover but she couldn’t hide the bitterness. Lion thought he announced everything to everyone until he saw Alexis, his son. He wondered if the child would have a grudge against him. Claire couldn’t have possibly said anything positive about him to their child and they didn’t share much of father-to-son bond. 

“Papa,” small voice beckoned him.

“Yes?”

“Does that new guy kiss you?” A tug on his heart string. Lion gulped before answering but all he could manage was a nod.

 “Okay. That’s a good thing!” Simple truth that disregards all complications. Guilt pumped out welling emotions within Lion. “Mama said I shouldn’t talk to you but I think she is just mad. If she has a monsieur, I think you should have one too.”

“Aren’t you smart.” Lion patted on those delicate hair. He watched Alexis running back to his mother and they parted their ways. Lion held it in and he would have broken down into pieces if Doc wasn’t there to pick him up.

* * *

**[“I’m not jealous.” for Doc/Lion requested](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/184503234288/3-im-not-jealous-for-doclion-or-a-c-d) by [icezero09](https://icezero09.tumblr.com/)**

If anybody ask Doc about what’s going on between him and Lion, Doc wouldn’t volunteer to give an outright explanation as of now. Some people may speculate and bring up the old feud that had happened a while ago, but that’s not even close to what’s been going on.

Let’s get one thing straight. The only person who is making himself miserable in this relationship is none other than Lion. Who reached out to Doc with a proper apology? Lion. Who asked Doc out? Lion. And who said that he wants to keep their relationship a secret, even though this barrack has full of other couples roaming about? Monsieur I-am-too-Catholic-to-be-gay. Therein lies the problem, hence the hush-hush of their relationship.

Doc didn’t mind at all. Their days were tame and nights were wild, to which Doc relished the feverish touches and affectionate gestures in bed. Lion was also quite sweet when they were out in public, acting on the intimacy level of a best friend or co-worker. Then the sweet demeanor dropped instantly when he saw other couples around them. Smiles wiped out, pensive gaze became leer and legs shook in visible disapproval. This ridiculous behaviour continued for some months or so, so people began to notice the newfound mood swing within infamously temperamental man. Then it peaked when one day Twitch and Clash, a doting couple with their hands held together, strolled by in the cafeteria.

“Don’t you have works to do?” Lion spoke out in a volume that’s normally mistaken as hostile, but this time he had full intentions of being a dickhead. Doc hoped that the ladies wouldn’t hear and Twitch also widened her eyes at Doc, but Clash was already making her signature look of displeasure.

“Are you talking to us?” Clash stormed towards the two French men.

“ _Mon chou_ , leave it. There’s no use in talking to an imbecile.” Twitch tugged her girlfriend away but she was gently nudged away.

“Morowa, that’s not what he meant-”

“I don’t need an explanation from you, Doc. I’m talking to your  _friend_  who seems to think a free speech don’t have consequences.” Clash stared down at Lion and demanded an answer.

“Why don’t you-” Lion halted for a second. Doc assumed that the man was about to hurl more snarky remarks, so he didn’t expect to see Lion slumping his shoulder and let out a deep sigh, “No. Never mind. My apologies.” Twitch and Doc exchanged a look of disbelief. Not that they don’t believe Lion’s words to be genuine, but the rarity of having an egoistical man tucking his tail in was somewhat jarring.

“Good. Watch your mouth next time.” Clash could have poured a whole new set of insults at Lion if Twitch didn’t physically drag her away. Doc thanked Twitch and waited for a few more minutes before he could concentrate on his troublesome lover. Doc was ready to scold the man for lashing out on their colleague, then he saw how low Lion’s head hung. It was as if Lion was shrinking in his own thoughts and burdens that Doc could only guess.

“What’s the matter?” Doc shook Lion to gain his attention.

“Nothing. I was just trying to tell that it’s not a good idea to be so open.” Lion shrugged and bit his lips on pitiful excuse that convinced no one.

“They can be open. It’s their choice, their rights,” Doc huffed as he felt the age old frustration towards Lion resurfacing, “Don’t say such nonsense because you are jealous.”

“I’m not jealous! I’m- I’m just tired.” Lion let loose of the agitation that he had been suppressing, even though he still staggered in uncertainty, “I know that. I’m also aware I need to do something soon before I lose you, and should probably have came out the same time when Gilles had told us about him and that foul-tempered badger.” He quietened down again with similar sense of defeat when he spoke of his best friend being a couple with an old geezer who punched his face.

“Stop. We’ve talked about this before, remember?” Doc couldn’t decide whether he wanted to hold Lion’s hands or slap some sense into him, then there were too many people possibly witnessing an intimacy that Lion forbade themselves from showing, “I’m willing to wait until you are ready. I know where you’re coming from and I wouldn’t have accepted you if I refused to understand who you are.”

“Gustave,” Lion yearned for a comfort, the rightful warmth and affection that he’s foolish to deny, “How long are you willing to wait?”

“Until our dying breaths,” Doc wrapped his arm around the other man; close enough but still enough distance to appear as comradeship, “And I’m quite a good medic, so that’ll buy you some time. You don’t need to hurry,  _minou_. So please ease up and let others enjoy what we have as well.” Despite the apparent selfishness from the younger man, Doc understood him. Lion lived almost all his life as a straight man under a religious upbringing, so of course he’s still confused and may go through identity crisis from time to time. What’s important is that Lion defied his own personal belief to chase after the love of his life. He’s finally pursuing the happiness that he deserves and Doc was proud of him.

* * *

**Inspired by[cordemente](https://cordemente.tumblr.com/)**

Imagine Doc sitting on a concrete floor, with his back against a nearby debris. He is covered with blood, so much blood that dyed his navy tactical suit into deeper shade of black. There lay a cold body of a recruit, who is certainly not a nameless but no one would know who they are unless their dog tag miraculously turns up somewhere.

“You know you can’t save them all.” A gravelly sigh holds Doc’s attention for a second. He notices a looming shadow in front of him and a light tinge of yellow in his peripheral vision allows him to guess who this could be.

“The bullet hit his artery on the neck. Of course it was a slim chance.” Doc disregards the notion of impossibility and inserts his adamant conviction. He wipes off the sprayed burgundy on his glove, which ends up being a messy smudge.

“Come on. Let’s clean you up.”

“Go ahead. I’ll leave after you.” Doc doesn’t even look at the hand that Lion reaches out for a support.

“Gustave, this isn’t the best place to space out.” Lion insists. He digs his hands under Doc’s arms to give the man a lift.

“Leave me be.” Doc pushes the other away and mutters something about his personal bubble being breached.

“You can’t stay here!” Lion tries again with more force this time.

“Why do you even care?” Doc growls and holds Lion’s wrist down, but his arms are already weak from the feverish attempt to save the injured recruit. They thrash and wriggle while exchanging profanities at one another, which doesnt last long when Doc’s already tired knees buckle in. Lion welcomes the other man in an embrace and tightens the hold, determined to not let go.

“Why do you even care?” Doc jerks back, refusing to melt in human contact that warms his fatigued body, “Why do you care  _now_?”

“Because I didn’t care before,” Lion crinkles his nose at the smell of dried blood, “Because I didn’t know that you are the kind of fool who wants to be there for everybody while you are just a man. A man trying to do God’s work.” Ferocious rocking slows down into gentle sways as Doc stops himself to listen.

“Call me a heretic, then.” Doc scoffs to hide a wobble in his voice.

“No. I’d still have you as a fool,” Lion leans on a wall while pulling Doc closer, “A valiant, stubborn and rash fool who says yes when everybody says no. You are an aspiration that I failed to achieve back then.” The silent tranquility envelopes the closed space between them; only then they notice the rustles of fabric as they readjust to find better comfort in each other’s arms. The scent of sweat exuding their essence, the mild and regular thump from their chests. The longing gaze they share is an open invitation for intimacy, and for Doc to understand the sincerity in Lion’s words. 

“How long are you going to hold me like this?” Doc leans in wearily. 

“Until you have the energy to push me back.” Lion replies in confidence that they would stay like this for the longest five minutes of his life. 

* * *

**[13. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/181917630288/1-12-13-14-for-doclion) **

Doc was in his office when Lion walked in without a knock on the door. 

“Yes?” Doc asked without looking away from the clipboard on his desk. 

“You’ve got any antiseptics here?” Lion muttered as he went through Doc’s cabinet without permission.

“Hey! Watch out there-” When Doc grabbed Lion by his elbow and pulled him away, he saw a bloody gash on the said man’s knuckles, “What did you do to your hand?”

“Nothing. Just give me something to disinfect.”

“Sit down and I will sort you out.” Doc insisted to help out. He dabbed some liquid on cotton balls and cleaned the blood off. Lion kept flinching in pain and made it hard for Doc to wrap the gash with gauze, so Doc held Lion’s unhurt hand and allowed the man to squeeze while overcoming the pain. They stayed still, linked together by shaky handhold that soon trapped some heat and sweat in their palms.

“Um, you can use the gauze now.” Lion let go of Doc and let out a dry cough.

“Sure.” Doc agreed and got right back to it.


	3. Time after Time (Montagne/Twitch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special Montange/Twitch ficlet for a dear friend [SwordLiger.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwordLiger/pseuds/SwordLiger)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the original post of this ficlet.](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/181803291493/remember-this-from-that-fluffy-ask-of)

**14\. What memories do they share together that will stay with them forever?**

It was an ordinary day. Routine was the same and Gilles followed his schedule on time. One thing that isnt the same would be his love for her growing stronger day by day. Being with Emmanuelle has been a miraculous blessing for Gilles because he thought it would end up as one-sided affection. A lonely pining, if you will. When some of the other colleague hinted that she felt the same for him, he didn’t hesitate to buy the most colourful bouquet in the town. An old clichè, but confession with pretty flowers hardly goes wrong. When he expressed how he felt for her, oh that damned smile she beamed at him. It felt far more vibrant than roses and lilies in his hands, especially when she kissed him straight after he confessed. Ever since then, remembering that fateful day brings a silly grin on his face. Rather than being stuck in this office with arduous paperwork, Gilles is very tempted to find his lover and pamper her with kisses and hugs. Just as he is about to delve into such sweet daydreams, a knock on the door wakes him up from being too distracted. **  
**

“Hello?” Someone calls out from the other side.

“Come in.” The door swings open once Gilles acknowledge their presence. “Miss Álvarez! What brings you here?” He nods at a friendly face and gets up for a brief handshake.

“I will get straight to the point, amigo,” Elena appears a little giggly at best but tries to hide it with a slight grimace, “Suppose if you die tomorrow, what would you like to do?”

“Pardon?”

“Simple, really. If you might die now, what would you do?” The question is a bit too sudden and morbid to fully register, especially when she is rushing him for an answer. Gilles contemplates on answering back, wondering if this is a joke.

“I would-” Gilles has to think again, “I would like to see Emma again and hold her hand.”

“Sounds good enough,” Elena chimes, “Alright. See you around.” Then she leaves the room. He sees her again during dinner but she only nods back at him without explaining whatever she was doing before. Judging by how she is talking to Emmanuelle, Gilles assumes they are having some fun in teasing him.

The next day he includes gym session as part of his schedule. Sweating while lifting weights is part of a meditation, a way to empty his mind a while. Then he showers, dries himself and heads to his office again for more written works to be done. He is mildly surprised to find the desk to be empty, completely devoid of the tower of papers that he had yesterday.

“ _Quoi_?” Upon close examination, he finds an unique drone on his desk; the prized model of his girlfriend’s. It has a note taped on top, which reads ’ _Suis moi_  (follow me.)’ Gilles slaps his forehead at such cute game that Emmanuelle has set up. Although he’s embarrassed to play along, there would be no harm in indulging himself for a small surprise.

The drone takes him to the GIGN quarters at first. When he enters the dorm, Gustave and Julien stare at him with a strange sense of readiness.

“Hurry! You need to get changed now.” Julien throws Gilles’ suit while Gustave gets gel and comb ready.

“What’s happening?” Gilles asks while confused and perplexed.

“No time for that. It’s good that you showered.” Gustave is quick to sleek the man’s hair back. It all happened in blink of an eye and before Gilles could ask more question, he is instructed to follow the drone and pushed out of the dorm. The drone whizzes down the hallway and stops again in front of more familiar faces. Alexander urged Gilles to down a particularly bitter drink, and Vicente gives eleven roses and says those are for Emmanuelle.

“I’m going with you,” Mike pats on Gilles’ shoulder, “Flament will be there too.”

“But why?”

“You’ll see.” Mike picks up the drone and leads the way. Gilles is slightly weirded out at how many people seem to be involved in this drone-chase that he thought it was just between him and his lover. He becomes even more confused to see a number of others clapping and sending congratulatory regards on their way outside of the barrack. It’s as if he is on the way to-

“He’s here!” When he arrives at the shady part of the trees nearby the barrack, Grace is the first one to shout out in excitement. Emmanuelle is also there, surrounded by Morowa and Monika who are massaging her shoulders as if they are giving her some sort of an encouragement.

“ _Amour_ , what is going on?” Gilles walks toward her.

“Oh! I-” Emmanuelle stutters, which is unusual of her. Elena whispers something into her ear and this seem to give her a newfound courage.

“Gilles,” She steps forward with her hands hidden behind, “Ha, nice day, isn’t it?” A few others laughs along with Emmanuelle. She takes a deep breath and continues, “All this time, you’ve looked out for me. You are my mentor, friend, comrade. And most of all, my lover.”

“Of course.” Gilles leans into hug the woman who is visibly nervous, but Olivier gently pulls him back.

“I know this is very unorthodox, or maybe too rushy. But we don’t know what will happen to either of us while working in this… profession,” She reach out to hold his hand, “I know you’ve been waiting for me to feel ready. I’ve heard the phone calls you had with your parents and the way you’ve said ‘it’s up to me.’ I felt so happy to hear that. To hear that you respect me and my decision,” as she kneels in front of him, people gasps, “Gilles, my darling. I’ve, uh, I’ve decided to spend my life with you. I really want to tell you that you are the only one for me in this world. People say engagement shouldn’t matter too much but I wanted to do this when we are both healthy and alive. I just wanted to ask you- will you marry me?” Then in his hand, she places a small burgundy box.

“Oui,” It’s a response that came within a heartbeat. Gilles couldn’t care less of the tradition or the societal gender norm. What’s important is that his lover gathered up all the time and effort to prepare this grand event of his life. This is the same kind of boldness that he fell in love with and there isn’t a thing that he would change about her, “I would die to be a husband to such a wonderful soul.” His lip quivers but it dissipates when she kisses him with such intensity, just like the first day they became a couple. Cheers and whistles roar up and some may shout ‘get a room,’ but the newly engaged couple ignores the cheeky remarks and keeps on making out for the longest time of their lives.


	4. Fool earns a disappointment (Smoke/Sledge)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The requested prompt is “I regret ever loving you.” This is a standalone post, hence no need for a link.

James thought they were on the same page regarding their relationship. Nothing too serious at first, a casual fling that’s starting to grow into something more than a quick nighty. He has recently found some solid meanings of them as a couple and assumed their pace in this relationship to be the same. That was until Seamus began to talk about what to do after their retirement.

“Wait, so-” Seamus pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, “you are going back to London?”

“Yeah. Where else would I go?” James replies without looking up at his boyfriend. He misses out on catching a flicker of confusion on taller man’s face.

“I’ve told you that I hate living in city.”

“You don’t have to. Don’t you have a flat in Scotland?” Dead silence. James sits up after sensing an unspeakable tension and cocks his head at a pair deeply furrowed eyebrows.

“James. What am I to you?” Seamus asks again and James can tell he is being patient.

“Someone who’s too good for me.”  _Actually, someone who is graduating out of being a fuck buddy._ James swallows down a crass phrase that popped up in his head and replaces it with something closer to the general truth. 

“Let me rephrase. Have you ever thought about spending our lives together?” Seamus doesn’t even need to wait for a response. Anybody can decipher the way James’ eyes flutter; his lips slack open and head shakes in ignorance.

“I regret ever loving you.” That’s all Seamus has to say before storming out of the room, leaving James apprehended at his own incapability of seeing Seamus’ point of view.

 _What the fuck did just happen?_  Gears begin to click and James slowly starts to realise that the connection is severed between them. That sheer fact alone fills his heart with sense of dread that he assumed himself to be invincible of. This isn’t the first time he angered his boyfriend, on purpose or not. Perhaps he has been abusing Seamus’ trope of being the gentle giant of the lot because the said man always forgave James on multiple occasions. Spent a crazy night out in London and started a bar fight? Seamus handled it. Missed out on their anniversary because he got carelessly wrecked during a mission? Well, Seamus understood the situation since that was the nature of their job. He even forgave James’ tactlessness when they met his parents back in Scotland. Come to think of it, Seamus has put up with James on a level that ‘friends with benefit’ wouldn’t even do. Unless he thought them to be something more than that while James hadn’t.

Could James ever be forgiven due to his stupidity and selfishness? He will have to grovel all the way across the base and ask Seamus to deck him on the face for being such degenerate.


	5. 'Ask' Collection (Blitz/Bandit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are collections of BliBan ficlets that I wrote for asks and a prompt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since some of these ficlets are a part of different posts, I will embed the links of original posts in each **sub-headings.** Except the prompt ficlet since that one is a standalone post.

**[14\. What memories do they share together that will stay with them forever?](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/180673717348/7-15-bliban) **

I’d like to imagine that they were on a mission. They had a solid plan but got separated from their group. Just the two of them fighting and slashing through the terrorists and the battle lasted the whole night. Exhausted, grazed and achy muscles. They were pushed to their limit and the com-device says they are almost there. When Blitz relaxes a bit to reload his handgun, a whitemask shot through a wall. Bandit didn’t even think - he pushed Blitz down and ran out to flank that motherfucker. Blitz shouted Bandit to come back but all he could hear was an exchange of gunshots. Everything went quiet and ten seconds felt like an hour. Blitz rushes out to look for his lover and his blood ran cold when he sees the familiar lanky figure laying down on top of a white mask.   
  
“No, no.” Blitz bit his lips and ran towards Bandit without even looking around to see if there were any other ambushes hiding. Fortunately the com-device finally announced that the area is clear, but it was unheard by Blitz who was holding the man with his eyes closed. A ray of sunlight dawned upon them, gently caressing his lover covered in dried up sweat and blood. The entire body of Blitz shuddered in disbelief and shock until-  
  
“Don’t say no. We are done now.” Bandit was actually okay. He just collapsed in fatigue. Blitz nearly pounded on the man for pulling such facade but he was just glad that everything was okay. It was all over and there wasn’t a single puncture on the man he is holding dearly.  
  
“We live on. Here’s another dawn to us.” Bandit patted on Blitz and relaxed his body a little. However, this wasn’t just another day for them. It’s start of a hope, a newfound perspective that both of them care for each other regardless of their own safety. A foolhardy way of checking each others’ love.   
~~They got told off by IQ later.~~

* * *

**Prompt: “You deserve so much better than me.”**

Have you ever had that moment where you look at someone and immediately associate them with everything bright and positive? Elias is a likeable guy who everybody would want to be close with. He’s indeed an exceptional model of a police officer who never fails to lighten up the mood in their workforce, while being all humble and modest. On top of all this, he is competent enough to be hand picked by Six herself and join one of the most affluent international counter-terrorist units. Self-sufficient, radiant and influential without flaunting it.  Yes, he is a sun that shines alone in the vast galaxy of darkness. The source of heat and energy for all living beings. A lighthouse for the weary and lost.

Could Dominic compare himself to a moon? An antithesis of olden metaphors that are too cliche? Not at all. It’s just hunk of a rock while he is a mere human who did what he had to do for a living. Infiltrate, adapt and survive. Pretty much the summary of his two years as an undercover agent. Even if what he did was legally protected, there were actions that he wasn’t proud of. Consequences that he never had to face because rather than being punished by the law, his dirty deeds got him paid and promoted. Him being prideful is only on the surface because the nightmares always remind Dominic of the moral values that he wanted to forget. Quite the contrast to the career profile that Elias had earned. Their experiences have a fine line of justification and everybody can see which one of them has cleaner past. Despite all this, Elias chose to be with him and that doesn’t sit right with Dominic. Whatever the thought process is, the end result will be a whisper; a faint prayer that he wishes to be heard and ignored.

“You deserve so much better than me.” Dominic traces a sliver of gold reflecting off of dark brown under the sunlight. He doesn’t dare to fully caress his lover, fearing that will wake him up. It’s better this way because Elias has developed an annoying hunch of knowing when Dominic is brooding or just plain tired. It’s either Elias is really good at figuring out what’s inside of a recluse, or Dominic is opening up a little too much for his liking. Regardless, Dominic isn’t sure of how long this bond will last and it could be better to cut it off before he becomes too accustomed to this warmth. Maybe he can enjoy just one more day. Today shall be the last. He will let go of Elias as soon as he wakes up. The other guy may not take it well and it will all be Dominic’s fault for taking those dazzling smiles away. After all, taking the blame sounds far easier than being anxious about losing some fleeting happiness.

* * *

**[20. What do their family/friends think of their relationship?](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/181922675428/7-8-11-and-20-for-bliban-please) **

IQ and Jager aren’t surprised at all. They congratulate Blitz and warn Bandit to ‘behave.’ 

”Don’t make him cry!” IQ pats hard on Bandit’s back.

”Don’t hesitate to punch him if he misbehaves.” Jager chimes in, fully knowing that Bandit would glare at him as if he is the ugliest cat in the world.

Cedrick is the only one feeling skeptical when Bandit brings Blitz home. Their parents are very happy to see their son living and loving the normal life, but his twin brother is like “What kind of ransom are you holding against this poor man?” He later finds out that Blitz radiates sunlight, fun and positive energy. Irresistible man, he would think. 

“No wonder why you fell for him. I thought you would be single till you die, but he rescued you.”

-

Blitz’s family are very welcoming when Blitz introduces Bandit as his lover. Their smiles, friendly attitude, natural chumminess… Bandit could see that apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. He feels a little to overwhelming, even. They aren’t doing anything wrong. He appreciates affection and respect they show, but it feels like being the blacksheep of the family even though they wouldn’t know about his past at all. Blitz notices shades on his lover’s face and tells his parents that they’ve got a motel to stay at. Bandit thinks Blitz’s parent would be confused and insists on them to stay, but the older couple nod in agreement. They proceed to pack some sweets in a container and suggests different places to look around in the town.

When they arrive at a motel that still has a room to spare, Bandit thanked Blitz for being considerate. 

“Well, that’s one more group of people to find me rude.” He sighs.

“What? They found you absolutely delightful! Don’t worry, liebe. They are the last people to judge.” Blitz leaps onto the shared double bed and pats on the side for Bandit to join. They spend the day together in motel, watching some corny police movies and share the dessert that came from Blitz’s house.


	6. 'Ask' Collection (Glaz/Maestro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asks done for Glaz/Maestro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the original post of this ficlet.](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/182134925143/1-11-12-14-16-22-maestroglaz)

**12. Who initiates kisses?**

Maestro thought that he was the smoothest criminal out there. Out of all the encounters that he had, it was him who initiated the dance, hand holding and secret rituals in bed. He felt more secure of having more control in the relationship, regardless of them being serious or a fling. Glaz wasn’t different from many other romantic pursuits, so Maestro thought he could woo Glaz instantly. They didn’t dance or drink; all Maestro needed was a quiet moment for just two of them to stare into each other. The moment was right and he was sure that the attraction was mutual. There were number of times when he noticed a flirtatious smile from the sniper, or when they shared a glance at each others’ naked bodies. Most of all, Glaz agreed to meet Maestro in private. What more sign could Maestro ask for?

“Glazkov! What a coincidence to see you here!” Maestro started to run his bullshit engine on.

“Yes, coincidence,” Glaz played along, “Also a coincidence that I received a message from you to come here.” He waves his hands around the dimly lit room of GIS dorm; the place had a few candles on and pair of wine glasses along with neatly assorted plate of tiramisu.

“Come on, don’t be so absurd.” Maestro shrugged and invited Glaz to sit next to him. Everything that came out of his mouth was compliments of Glaz’s ability during their latest terrorist extermination, how the Russian was composed like a hawk looking for its prey. Glaz nodded at the flatters and commented on Maestro’s competence. They exchanged niceties and narrowed the gap between them inch by inch as they sipped on wine. Maestro felt the undivided attention from the younger man and the thrill of building up a moment that he was dying to deliver. 

“I like you, Martello,” Glaz chuckled and gave the Italian a toothy grin, “And I’m sure that you aren’t stupid to think  _this_ as a camaraderie. We are more than that.” Hearing that from Glaz made Maestro’s heart leap a little, reminding him the first time playing the game of courtship. 

“Of course. It would be a shame to waste such perfect mood.” This was it. Maestro reached out to place his palm against the Russian’s cheek, fully ready to kiss.

“Yes, it would be a shame,” Glaz held up a finger and blocked Maestro’s lips, “to end it here.” Then he gently pushed the older man back and finished the last drop of alcohol.

“Why end when we can start right now?” Maestro chuckled to conceal his confusion.

“Because I don’t start with anybody who aren’t serious,” Glaz laughed back and stood up to look down upon the Italian.

“Oh? I urge you to give me a try.” Maestro stood up as well and tried to hold the other again, but this time, the hand rather than the face.

“Sure.” And within blink of an eye, Glaz lunged in for a fast peck on the lips, rendering Maestro speechless and incoherent of what just happened.

“ _Che?_ ”A lone murmur escaped while his mouth tingled with warmth.

“Next time, I want more  _details_  when asking me out properly. Good night, Adriano.” With that, Glaz walked out with prideful smirk. (I don’t know who might have told Glaz about Maestro’s casanova-ness. Only the  ** _Lord_  **knows what’s really up.)


	7. 'Ask' Collection (Thatcher/Kaid)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of the ficlets are [from an ask that allowed me to choose whichever ship I want.](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/182367965038/i-am-loving-all-the-answers-youve-given-for-all%22) So I chose Kaid/Thatcher.

**6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?**

People assume that they bonded through companionship for beards, but that’s only partly true. They began to share same product for facial hair care and mild soap. Two men nod at each other after they shower and fully dry their beards, but that’s not the favourite feature of their partner.

Thatcher is impressed with Kaid from the day he saw the man. Tall, broad shoulders and piercing gaze. Rather than a mountain, Thatcher saw an eagle; the kind of animal that doesn’t need to stretch out its claws to appear intimidating. Judging by the physique and posture, Thatcher knew that this Moroccan also dedicated his whole life in the military and adamantly stayed with his comrades on the field. The man’s charisma was charming on skin-deep level, but Thatcher fell for Kaid’s undying devotion for his own people back in Morocco. 

Kaid saw Thatcher when he watched a training session of SAS. The recruits moved in unison, communicated each other and listened to Sledge’s order word by word. At first, Kaid thought Thatcher was an adviser or one of the higher ups who came to watch Sledge in action. Then he noticed subtle glances from Sledge to Thatcher, as if the older Brit’s presence was bothering him. Curious of the whole situation, Kaid walked over to Thatcher for a closer inspection. They shared a courteous greeting and shook hands, and Kaid was pleasantly surprised to feel the callous and fresh scars on Thatcher’s palms.  _This guy must be a commander of this base. Nice job on disciplining the younger commander._ Conversation started with brief information about their own troops, and then Thatcher explained that this session is Sledge’s training as the next leader. When Kaid said “Suppose it’s better to prepare your retirement early,” he saw a flicker of spark glaring at him.

“I’m still fit to tend my fort. Wouldn’t you agree,  _commander_?” Thatcher was smiling but Kaid saw aggressive vivacity; the kind of emotion that a young man would exert. Kaid never thought that there would be someone like him in this world and he wanted to see more of that liveliness from Thatcher.

 

**12. Who initiates kisses?**

I had to think hard about this one. Like, toss and turn in my bed and imagine how these two serious men would actually kiss. Then you know what? They are just two men. Perhaps lonely individuals who finally have found each other to satisfy their needs and wants. They may have thought about having someone to hold for a while, but doesn’t know how to be casual about affection without appearing to be immature for their age. I think Kaid would have that mentality where frequent physical intimacy is past their age, so let alone  _initiating_  a kiss is outrageous. Does he want it? Of course he does. Thatcher also wants it but he can see Kaid being darn right uncomfortable about it so they usually end up just chilling around.  _‘Two gramps, chilling in a busy pub, two feet apart cause they’re so gay.’_

So who asks in the end? Thatcher. He just couldn’t take it anymore. Why were they wasting their time, such limited life span worrying about small things that won’t even matter when they die. It took a while for Kaid to be convinced. Thatcher kept asking without beating around the bush and he finally heard the exact words for mutual desire from Kaid. They kissed quite awkward at first - just lips touching without any movement. The older man mumbled how their beards prickle each other. 

“That can be arranged. Where is your shaver?” Thatcher chuckled softly and walked around the room to find one.

“Don’t spew such nonsense! We just need more practice.” Although it was a joke, Kaid refused to even imagine Thatcher without his magnificent facial hair. They tried again with much more ease this time and ended up practising through the whole night.

 

**29. one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart**

Kaid feels guilty. The possibility of finding someone was beyond his grasp, because let’s face it. Who would want to be involved with someone that made all his schedule revolving around the Fortress?

For all his life, Kaid poured everything within him into the Fortress, to make it stronger and more renowned.

Spending time in Rainbow meant to be a business trip for him, but then he met Thatcher, someone who is going through a similar situation as him. Kaid fell in love with another soul who understood what he was going through and for the first time in a while, it enjoyed the blissful miracle. However as time went on, Kaid loses confidence in this relationship. It’s unprofessional, a hindrance to his life long plan and most importantly - Morocco wouldn’t allow it. Kaid is tempted to break it off with Thatcher numerous times but he only contemplates on it. The day he ends their relationship will really be the end of it. Kaid is desperate to find a way.

Thatcher is impatient. Yes, he is aware of Kaid’s situation. A fine mixture of ambition, discrimination and the nature of their profession. Does that mean Thatcher is fine with everything? No, because they may not have much time left in them. What’s the chance of survival for a soldier? Less than half. Thatcher is past his prime and so is Kaid, so what does the percentage say for them? Thatcher wondered if this is the right time for his retirement. To settle down, spend his time with Kaid and let their bones rest. Buy a nice place in Bideford for them to stay, or perhaps find a neighbourhood with an open mind. And yet, Thatcher is constantly reminded of those terrorists that are still out there. He still has a job to do. He wants to be active in service until his body breaks down. Kaid has been an inspiration for him, so for that exact reason, it hurts him to see both of them give up on their dreams so soon. Thatcher wants a lot of things that seem impossible to achieve all at once.

Is ‘love’ enough to put an end to all they have achieved? Can they make more sacrifices to attain what their heart desire?

 

**30. one headcanon about this OTP that mends it**

Oh man now I made it too hard. Hmmmmmm OH I got one.  ~~A weak one but maybe it can work out.~~ Six receives an email from Thatcher, wanting a private meeting. When they meet up, he asks about an update on improving Kaid’s school. Before Six could ask Thatcher’s intention, he quickly proposes a joint combined exchange training between SAS and GIGR, a partnership plan to work on conjoined mission so the GIGR will get more international exposure. The idea sounds quite abrupt and out of blue, but Six reads over details through a handful of document that Thatcher has brought.

“We are already working on promoting the newest CTU within Rainbow, Specialist Baker. Is there a purpose behind these recommendations?” Six asks as she neatly organises the papers.

“There will be a certain benefit that we will gain by supporting such highly redeemed organisation.” Thatcher replies.

“A certain benefit for who?” Six clicks on her pen idly and watches Thatcher intently. 

“For all of us.” Thatcher looks straight into her eyes without a blink or twitch. They discuss further on what can be done and adjourn the meeting, as Six has another appointment soon after.

Kaid shows up exactly after ten minutes. He nods with a curt greetings and shares his schedule of readjusting visa for longer stay. 

“The British Special Air Service have some interesting individuals, I say,” Kaid describes their method of training and comments on Sledge’s recent training under Thatcher’s supervision. 

“Not as interesting as your colleague.” Six mentions about the intricate maps that Nomad has been drawing.

“Of course. She is a specialist, after all,” Kaid strokes on his beard and pauses for a bit, “A free spirited explorer. Discovering new resources. I guess she is the one who will bring the wind of change.” 

“Is she your successor?” Six asks, immediately curious at the fact that the secretive Moroccan decides to share a bit more about his own regiment.

“That’s not my decision to make alone. But if she is to become one, it would be better to make connections now, starting from here.” Kaid continues to explain what he envisions. He requests to bring in some of the TSCTP soldiers as recruit for a first hand experience, and they could start their work under the guidance of SAS and GIGR operators.

“A conjoined training,” Sounds familiar to Six but Kaid doesn’t have to know that, “This way, we can disperse our forces evenly with less travelling.” Not a complete garbage of an idea, but it sounds quite rushed to Six.

“Don’t tell me that you are retiring after all that time we spent on you.” She isn’t afraid to hide a cocky grin.

“I fulfill my side of contract as long as you uphold yours. Don’t you worry, director,” Kaid scoffs and readies to leave the room, “I’ve got a long way to go until I get everything ready. And I mean  _everything_. Only then, I shall travel back and forth between here and my home.”


	8. 'Ask' Collection (Mira/Ash)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asks done for Mira/Ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the original post of this ficlet.](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/181918719323/5-8-17-20-for-my-rowdy-girls-ashmira)

**17\. Who says I love you first?**

Mira said it first and felt a tinge of regret at first. It was only a month after they started to date and she berated herself for being too rash and stupid. They aren’t some love struck teenagers, drunk in summer love with rose tinted lens. She stopped saying the ‘L’ word for a while and felt relieved that Ash didn’t say it back. After a while, she noticed Ash prolonging their kisses and cuddles. As if she was constantly craving for more physical affection, but not saying what she wants. That was very uncharacteristic of the blunt American. One day, they were in a phone call because they were assigned in different countries. The chat was nothing of ordinary - they shared who did what and how stupid their day was. When they were about to hang up after series of ‘goodnights’ and ‘I miss yous,’ Ash stayed quiet. Mira could hear breathing on the other line - not the calm and content one but ragged and irregular huffs.

“I-” Ash blurted out a word, startled Mira a little, “I- need to check tomorrow’s schedule. Give me a second,” Rustling or fabric and paper were all Mira heard, and then, “Okay. Everything is good. I- I will, yeah, I guess um,” Ash halts again and let out the biggest sigh.

“Niña? Are you alright?”

“Of course! I am super. I will just,” Ash swallowed on her spit, “I will just say goodnight. And I love you. Bye.”

“What, Eliza!?” Mira called out her lover’s name several times but found out that Ash hung up.  ~~To be continued?~~

 

**20\. What do their family/friends think of their relationship? (From same post as above)**

Mira’s family is ecstatic. They bombard the couple of questions of ‘WHERE, WHEN, HOW, WHAT.’ A lot of family future plans are made within the first three hours the visit. Mira’s dad is cautious of Ash, wondering if Mira’s new partner will be someone who leaves her just like his wife did.  After having a few conversations with Ash, he relaxes a little but still keeps his guard up.

“Can she even sweep you off of your feet?” Dad asks.

“That’s my job, papa.” Mira replies and demonstrates straight away.

Ash’s side give her a little… headache. Her parents are happy that Ash has found someone to settle with, but they aren’t thrilled with how the eldest of the house will take it. Of course, savta throws a fit at Ash, yelling how she is causing commotion within the family by going against the law of nature.

Ash tries to reason with the elder. She wants them to see how Mira makes her happy and no one, she means no one as in men and women, can replace Mira. They argue back and forth, and Ash is beginning to feel ashamed that Mira has to sit through such dishonour. She knows that Mira would have flipped the table and unleash pandemonium upon this place if she wished to, but Mira is holding her temper down to not make the situation worse.

“YOU CANNOT GIVE US GRANDCHILDREN WITHOUT A SEED! Why couldn’t you just stayed in Israel and serve your duty as a woman in this household? You need to come back this instance and learn how to live properly from the beginning.”

“The only person who’s acting like an UNCULTURED BROAD IS YOU!” Ash screams back and everybody, except Mira, gasps in horror. They catch a flight back to England that night and Ash spends the entire trip fuming with seething anger. Mira hugs her, holds her shoulder and promises that their love will remain strong and steady, no matter what.

They return to their base, to their friends who has shown support from the beginning of their relationship. Ash prefers to stay with her FBI crew - she speaks fondly of how Pulse joked that Ash has someone to tame her, how Thermite said Mira will give them extra discount on engineering materials. Castle gave them his blessing by complimenting how two women balances each other out, and Jackal began to invite Ash over for shooting range training. Ash feels home at her workplace and nothing about that is ironic.


	9. 'Ask' Collection (Glaz/Maverick)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to [Jayvee11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayvee11/pseuds/Jayvee11) for helping me to brainstorm the ideas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have posted a part of this on my other fic entry called ['Ficlets from my Discord journey,'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417611/chapters/30745179) but I figured the ficlet belongs in this entry better. Pardon the confusion, fellas.  
> [Here's the original post of this ficlet.](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/182241603843/6-8-11-23-24-and-25-for-galzmav)

**6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?**

At first, Maverick thought Glaz was hard to read whenever they go out for a mission. An enigma wrapped in face-paint and mouth-scarf, quick and efficient in taking aim and shooting right on the enemies’ head. They worked nicely together as a team because he found Glaz by his side whenever he made a ‘kill hole.’ Those haunting pair of blue never lost a sight on target and Maverick was very impressed with the Russian. Whenever they had a after-mission party, Maverick saw Glaz being stoic and intimidating (just your big man leaning against a wall like a bodyguard,) but he knew that Glaz wasn’t really enjoying all these people around. Tense shoulders, tightly shut lip and most of all; those steely blue eyes wavering whenever someone approached Glaz for a small talk. It was a pitiful sight, a situation that Maverick emphasised so much with. The deadly sniper, the predator wasn’t there in exposed environment. That’s when Maverick asked Glaz if he wanted to go out for a smoke or a breather and that’s when they talk more privately. Maverick thoroughly enjoyed his  _investigation_  which soon became more than that.

Glaz thought that Maverick is just another crowd pleaser, Mr Tall-Tales. He had to admit the content of the stories were entertaining and intriguing enough, but the story-telling itself was the most interesting part.

Whenever Maverick described the vast land of Kabul, the mountain and its hidden beauties, the legacies of the olden days left in forms of architecture and cuisines… All these stories were in second person narrative. “ _You_  wouldn’t believe,“ “Suppose  _you_ could go up there if you have a pack of rations and strong booze,” “If  _you_ visit the nearest restaurant.” Whenever someone made a comment about Maverick’s personal experience, Maverick would make a subtle flick on his brows and add a little bit of his experience but quickly resumes back to the story. The enthusiasm and energy attracted Glaz, but it was the sense of secrecy that made him wanting to know more about Maverick. (Plus, the guy is handsome and who wouldn’t want to hangout with a hot guy? Like, privately outside, away from all the commotion?) 

 

**25. Who needs more assurance? (From the same post as above)**

Both, in a way. Here’s what JV has suggested and I wanted to flesh it out as a small ficlet.

When the team’s residential painter sits still in front of an empty canvas, people may assume that he is deep in concentration. A lot of their colleague have seen the sharpshooter in action, or rather inaction because they assume a sniper’s role is to perch somewhere far away and crouch like a gargoyle for a shot. They aren’t but Glaz doesn’t bother to correct them. He can’t explain every little thought process that goes into his head while preparing for a shot. Not just any shot; it’s best to land a precise and clean head shot rather than sloppy spray of bullets. However, art is different. It may be planned or spontaneous, but the common factor of creating an art piece is that the creator must be moving. They must continue to experiment and expand with pencil, paintbrush or even a piece of clay. Being a sniper and an artist require some degree of being attuned to details, and yet they have difference paces of reaching to a conclusion. Instantly deleting and slowly creating an existence - that’s the irony of what Glaz do. Therefore Glaz isn’t happy with himself at this moment, where he is just staring into a blank space. Although nothing is worse than leaving a paint to dry, he is tempted to crack a new shade of blue open, and wonders that will motivate him to at least paint  _something._ Maybe he could do something with brown by mixing it with red. Make himself an in-between of maroon and burgundy, then splatter it to taint the purity of white. He could work with it as it could remind him of boiled strawberry for a kompot. The inner vein of the fruit, the delicious mixture of red and white like muscles and tendons. Funnily enough, blood would look brownish when it stains on clothes, just like that time when he saw that boy bleeding in his parents’ arms from Beslan. Limp, lifeless in midst of the sadness boiling into rage-

“Tim.” A soft touch awakens Glaz from his trance. The Russian leans back and smiles when his weight is supported by someone who he loves. Maverick smiles back and bends down for a kiss. 

“You reek of booze. This better be that kvass I made for you.” Glaz furrows upon smelling a hint of alcohol.

“Would you be less mad if I say it was vodka from Senaviev’s flask?” Maverick chuckles.

“No. I was going to ask you to save me some,” Glaz sighs and pulls Maverick closer, inviting the man to sit on his laps, “because nothing comes out of my brain tonight.”

“Does it have to come out tonight?” Maverick adjusts to make himself more comfortable.

“No, but it would be nice to have something painted at least once a fortnight. And it’s been more than a month.” Glaz leans his head against the firm and sturdy back in front of him. The familiar sweet scent puts his mind at ease, but only by a little. Curse his restless dilemma.

“Look,” Maverick shifts and turns so he faces Glaz, “you can’t force this. That’s just how it is, Timur. Where is the fun in life if everything beautiful and wondrous are  _scheduled?_  Nature has their own rules but they don’t think about it. It happens because it’s meant to happen. Don’t trap yourself in obligations that aren’t for you. You are the boss in whatever you do.”

“Aren’t you a wise man?” Glaz smiles and he can feel it becoming wider as warmth grows within his heart.

“Smart that I am, but wise? I will have to think about that.” Maverick plants a kiss on Glaz’s forehead. 

“Don’t be too humble now.”

“Just speaking the truth.” The American holds the other’s hands, which allows Glaz to have a closer look on the famed tattoo. A question arises; the similar kind of curiosity that struck Glaz ever since they started going out. Is this the right time to ask about it? Those robbed two years of his lover’s life? No. Glaz has waited for Maverick to open up first and he prefers to wait longer, because some things are better told without being asked.

“Why do you think that you aren’t wise?” Suppose that’s okay to ask. Although it sounds like a distraction for himself, Glaz is genuinely curious of what Maverick really meant.

“Because there is only so much that a cleverness can do,” Maverick moves his arms behind Glaz’s neck, obscuring his tattoo, “knowing a lot means I need to make use of that information. If I am wise, I would know how to dispose of them for my own good.”

“You make it sound like we are machines,” Glaz softly cups Maverick’s cheeks, “we can’t add and delete what we see, love. But we can take in what’s in front of us and either let it out or keep it in. I guess I’m the kind who likes to let it out through arts and crafts.” And perhaps through a legalised murder, within the right justice.

“Promise me one thing.” Maverick grins and leans closer.

“Anything, Erik.”

“Promise me that you will be there when I find a way to let it out. When I finally wise up.” They share a slow kiss, the one that allow each other to match their breathing and sway in a gentle rhythm.

“I promise, within all my heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A ficlet that I wrote for an OTP ask meme in my tumblr blog. Inspirational credit goes to Jayvee11 as he has said:  
> '25: Who needs more assurance?  
> I feel this can be answered in two ways: I think in terms of “who comes to the other more for assurance with day to day life problems”, it’s Glaz who comes to Maverick, or Maverick seeing the signs of Glaz struggling with art block, or social stress, or the usual problems that come with being a soldier, and serves as a calming force in Glaz’s life.
> 
> But in terms of “who finds them self opening up about their past late at night after some gentle prodding from the other, who repeatedly tells them it’s going to be okay”, Mav finds himself in that position, slowly coming to terms with his mental scars and how they’ve affected him, Glaz being gentle and not forcing him to lay it out all at once.'
> 
> So I wanted to expand that with a ficlet.


	10. 'Ask' Collection (Montagne/Doc)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asks done for Montagne/Doc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the original post of this ficlet.](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/182109369428/3-6-8-12-22-and-26-montydoc-please)

**3. Most common argument?**

Oh! This is the first time I am answering a question #3 out of this OTP memes!I think Doc and Monty would fight about whether [the best defense is a good offense](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FThe_best_defense_is_a_good_offense&t=OTBiY2IwMzVmMzlmMmY2MGY4OWQzMTk0YzI1ZjQzY2U4ODAzYmQ5NCw3MGYxYmQ0MWNmZGE2MmUxZTVkYmEyMjU5ZjVlYTNlYzFjZGE0NWZk) while Doc heavily disagrees. Monty is speaking from his perspective as a shield bearer who charges into the enemy field for his teammates while Doc argues back, saying that kind of tactic only works on attacking team. Monty says that the defending team has a fair share of roamers who strikes the enemies first, and Doc would say that’s their role. The operators with most armour are better to hold their position in case of enemy flanks and/or ambushes. 

“Darling, I can’t exactly do that,” Monty clenches his fists and pleads, “I am their front line. That’s my job.”

“Well, it’s my job to look after everybody in this base!” Doc knows that he sounds far from being reasonable, but- “Including you. I just want to see you less injured. Fully alive and well without risking your life for the others.” This is a foolish debate. Who has the luxury of no bloodshed in battle field? On what right can Doc ask Monty to watch out for only himself? Doc is well aware of what Monty does and the pride he holds for his position, and yet his entire body trembles whenever Monty returns Hereford covered in red and purple from bruises.

“I live for you, Gus,” Monty holds his shaking partner, “Nothing will hold me down,  _mon coeur._ I promise.”

 

**12. Who initiates kisses?**

Could you believe that they only had three proper dates within the first few months of their relationship? Not because they were shy of their relationship, but it was rather something to do with their profession. I view both of them to be really serious about their career, so they already had a strict routine for themselves. Therefore whenever they date, it always felt fresh, always felt awkwardly new when stepping into each others’ boundaries. Monty was dying to do something more other than eating at fine diner or gazing each other romantically. He was constantly distracted by those lips. Monty wanted to slide his fingertips against Doc’s nape and pull them closer if Doc would allow them to be so intimate. He craved every bit of Doc but what if he was too soon? It had been a while since Monty wooed someone and people seem to have different pace of relationship nowadays. 

“Gilles-”

“Gus-”Both of them stopped as soon as they said each others’ names. They exchanged the whole ‘no, you go first’ until Doc raised his hand, asking for a moment to speak his mind.

“Do you think we are going in the right direction?” Doc sighed and bit his lips.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this is great and all,” Doc nudged at silverware on an empty plate and blew one of the candles out, “but I really had to ask you.”

“You can ask me anything.” Monty was eager to hear.

“It may come off as rude. Haste, even. For God’s sake, we aren’t teens high on hormones,” The slight dry cough interrupted Doc, “But I need to tell you how I feel. It’s strange that I am being so cautious now as if we haven’t asked each other out; I guess I needed to gather some courage before leaping into the next level of ‘us.’” Doc stood up and dragged his chair closer to Monty to sit right beside him. The tension was thick as it scaffold from mild anticipation to full-blown raw desire. 

“Do you propose to kiss?” Monty shifted himself closer and dared to touch the other’s shoulder. They leaned in; their eyes held the moment of mutual decisiveness while enjoying each others’ unique bodily perfume. And that’s how they mixed their taste for the first time.


	11. 'Ask' Collection (Doc/Twitch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Ask' Collection (Doc/Twitch)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since some of these ficlets are a part of different posts, I will embed the links of original posts in each **sub-headings.**

**[6\. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/182861735058/okay-okay-i-love-your-blog-so-much-and-i-have-a) **

Doc would joke that he always thought Twitch’s eyebrows are ‘on point,’ but he fell in love with what he found during her physical exams. He didn’t eye on her physique or figure, but bits of scars on her body. The evidences of her services in the military. The marks of labours and hard-earned respect, the callouses not just on her hands but also balls of her foot from combat boots. He saw well-developed muscles on her shoulder area to withstand the recoils, and silhouette of sternum when he tenses her pectorals.

“Are you staring?” Twitch asked, sensing an intense gaze on a place deemed inappropriate.

“Yes,” Doc replied half-heartedly, then quickly realised how wrong that must have sounded like, “I mean, no. I was making an observation, I was uh-” he had to cut it short before digging a deeper hole for himself, “I was making a mental note. I’m sorry.”

“If you are going to tell me that I am not suited for this job, tough luck,” Twitch scoffed as she got dressed after the check-up on muscle group and joint maneuvers, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, you’re fine,” Doc replied, “There is no one who has the capability to carry out field duties while maintaining and re-inventing our electrical gadgets. Just watch out for certain chemical poisoning and you are fit to work as long as you want.”

“Oh,” Twitch looked taken aback, both at his professional remarks and her own hint of spitefulness that she displayed earlier, “That’s good to know. Very good to know. Sorry that I sounded like I’m on edge - I guess I got tired of being judged without being asked.”

“I understand,” Doc shone a tired smile, “Some people tell me that I am too good for this job when they don’t even know what goodness is. We all chose to be here, didn’t we? We chose this.”

“Yes,” Twitch reciprocated the smile with a shy grin, “Yes, we did.” And that’s how Twitch also noticed Doc, a colleague who understood her needs and wants. It felt nice to connect with someone who recognised her as who she is, minus the condescending behaviour under the pretense of being worried for her or some bullshit like that. She didn’t fall in love with him right then, but it was after some observation that she took of Doc. She saw him constantly trying to make an emotional connection with his ‘patients,’ making small talk to ease up the mood for those who were unnecessarily nervous, or be stern with those who didn’t take their health issues seriously. She saw him making genuine effort to be ‘your number one friendly local doctor.’ An advocate for a thankless job in a profession that people don’t even know they exist. She thought he isn’t half bad.

 

 

**7\. What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?**

I can see Twitch avoiding Doc like her life (career) depends on it. She wants no distraction at work and now there is a hottie taking her attention away from her lovely drones. How the heck is she going to not get herself slip up whenever she has a weekly meeting with the fellow GIGN mates? When she visits the infirmary for a check up? Since when did this bookworm look so delectibly handsome and sexy? Rook and Lion don’t care for little changes within the team but Montagne knows. He sees the subtle changes of how Twitch treats Doc in and out of their practices; her manner of speech becomes more rough and curt when responding to Doc. Rook would occasionally ask if Twitch needs some time alone because of stresses (he wouldn’t even guess about the monthly thing - Rook is just one of those good guys who assumes his teammate being tired because of workloads.)

Doc is the opposite. When he feels an attraction towards someone, he thrives to get to know them. That’s why he has been trying to catch a moment with Twitch because he thought they share mutual feelings, but with her being so distant, he becomes more confused and discouraged even. Montagne watches them from afar and sighs, thinking they are couple of helpless lovebirds who are speaking two very different mating calls. He decides to ask Rook for help and what does the young French do?

“ _Attends, quoi? Tu pense vraiment qu'Emma et Gus s'aiment bien?_

[What? Are you sure that Gus and Emma like each other?]” Rook shouts, carelessly allowing himself to be heard by everybody who speaks their native language within vicinity.

“Julien, where did you learn your manners? That’s not what I said at all.” Montagne holds an urge to smack the younger man some sense in him, but he bites away a smile when Doc and Twitch walk in almost immediately after the perfectly timed commotion. The rest is a story to tell in the future, something that Lion learns later whether he likes it or not.

 

**12\. Who initiates kisses?**

Twitch. It started quite abruptly, when they were sharing a desk in local library. She watched him deeply focused in a book that he had been wanting to read for a while; the way those lips busily wriggled to bite its own loose skin amused Twitch to no end. The wrinkles and creases stretched as his front teeth caught the tip of flimsy layers, and as it ripped apart, there was a glimmer of red welling out from the inner part. It was a quick reaction, something that came out without any consideration at all. Twitch placed her fingertip on the freshly made scab, which incited a sharp take of breath from Doc who widened his eyes in surprise.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Twitch whispered an excuse, “Don’t you have any ChapStick of sort?”

“I use Vaseline?” Doc weakly replied in a similar volume.

“Don’t use that!” She hissed, “It’s an abomination. Here, you can use some of mine.” She looked through her bag, tossed and turned heap of items and growled when she couldn’t find that darned little thing.

“Don’t worry, we will get some later.” Doc patted on her shoulder and attempted to soothe her.

“Fuck it, then. This will have to do.” Twitch sighed and leaned forward, brushing her well-moisturised lips against his. She made an effort to lightly rub on his bottom lip as an intention to soothe the sore.

“Em?” Doc blinked, “You know that doesn’t really help.”

“Shut up, we are in the library.” Twitch shoved him away and buried her face in the book she wouldn’t be able to focus on.

 

**13\. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?**

It was Doc for the longest of time. At first, he held her hand nothing out of personal feelings. They sometimes held hands while helping Twitch to balance on her feet while her physical exams. After they started to date, Twitch spent some time alone in the workshop and Doc would see her sitting lonely with the stand light casting shadows over her.

“We are really together now, huh?” She said when Doc made his presence known.

“Yes, we are.”

“I don’t know whether this is a blessing or a curse,” Twitch sighed and fidgeted on one of the wires laying on top of the bench, “It will all be over when either of us bites the dust.”

“No one’s going to ‘bite’ dust,” Doc sat in front of her and held those trembling hands, lightly kissing every knuckles that had their own scars on them, “I will get you right back on your feet whenever you falter. Wherever you are.”

“That’s impossible,” Twitch chuckled, “You are tickling me, _lapin_.”

“I made you smile. That’s one thing possible.” He brought her hands closer to his heart and hummed. Kisses and cuddles won’t dissipate all the worries they have for each other, but the pure act of sharing concerns shall give them courage.

 

* * *

 

**[25\. Who needs more assurance?](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/183000477913/and-comes-the-other-half-of-twitchdoc-otp-meme) **

Twitch would sometimes find Doc alone in his office, tending the stim pistols and fiddling with the ammo-flasks.

“ _Lapin_ ,” She calls out to him, “Are you ready to sleep?”

“Yeah, I’ll join you soon.” He flashes a small grin without any trace of joy.

“Come on. What’s up?” Twitch drags a stool and sits next to her lover for a closer observation.There are shades caused by bags under his eyes and his hair isn’t combed nicely anymore. She holds down his shaky legs under the table and lay her head on his shoulder, attempting to calm the restlessness by sharing her warmth, “What are you thinking about?”

“Have you ever thought about who we kill?” Doc whispers, “Who they kill? And whose lives we are saving?”

“I think about who we protect.” Twitch replies and feels tension in the hands that she is holding.

“It has been four years since those White Masks made an appearance, but we don’t know what they want. What their aim is. How many of them do we have to kill? How can we prevent whoever from joining them?” Doc rants on, each words shortening his breath, “How can we guarantee that who we save won’t become one of them? I am fearful that the lives that we value won’t value ours. Now that I’ve become to love you, it would make me doubt my devotion if something bad happens to you in the future. I want to retire and ask you to come with me, but you and I both know that we can’t just simply walk out. We won’t walk out-”

“Shh,” Twitch caresses his cheeks and brings them closer to have their foreheads touching, “Slow down a bit. I know what you mean. What we do is a thankless job, but we are here, trying to find the source of the problems. As Six has said, we are engaging force with force. If they continue to be a problem, we will have to stand tall and strong to fend them off.”

“It just seem so endless,” he sighs and breathes in to appreciate her scent, “And I am becoming numb with taking lives away. It is a necessary part of our job, I know. I’ve made that choice. But I can’t bear the thought of them taking yours.”

“Gus,” Twitch remembers the conversation they had when he kissed her knuckles. It’s her turn to reassure him this time, but words of comfort don’t come straightway because she also knows the depth of despair he is going through as of this moment, “I am scared. Scared for you and I, wondering whether we will fulfill our duty with all our limbs attached. But I want you to know this,” She brings his hand to her chest, “As long as my heart beats - as long as I am alive and well. I swear that I will do everything within my power to stay safe and sound. Everything I do to survive and fight on, it will all be for you. For us. I need you to stay strong with me and get me right back on my feet.” She reminds him of his words and watches his face light up as he recalls the promises that he made.

“How did I forget,” He chuckles and rubs his eyes, “How could I forget what I said to you. I love you, Emmanuelle. I will stay strong for you and you only.”

“Good. Now come and warm my bed! I might catch a cold if there’s no body heat on my mattress.”

“As you wish, mademoiselle.” He enjoys the light pull on his arm and the gentle touch they share. He always knew she is far braver than he will ever be, but tonight really highlights everything he admires in her; unyielding valor, energy and empathy.

~~What he would give up to ensure their safety - he may have to make some hard decisions in the future.~~

 

**29\. one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart**

~~When either of them dies~~

I meannnnnnn maybe it could have been when Doc was away for the Outbreak mission. As I’ve heard from other people’s headcannons, it was a secret even amongst the operators. That was Doc’s decision to prevent mass panic - so she would have been confused and baffled to see Doc leaving without giving her details. No matter what she tried to get information out of him, he could not tell her since it was against the contract. The misunderstanding kept building on until the day of his departure.

“So you are not going to tell me where you are going, whatever you are doing and when you will be coming back.” She spat out venom that jabbed on his chest.

“I can’t, amour. I am sorry.” He sighed and swallowed down the aches of guilt and frustration.

“What kind of lovers are we, hiding things from each other?”

“Emma, this is strictly confidential. It’s my decision as a professional and,” He lowered the volume, “It’s for your own safety too.”

“To hell with that!” She stormed off to opposite direction. It was hard for her to admit that there would be similar occasions such as this in the future, where some of the operators will be given one of those ‘top secret’ missions that cannot be revealed. However, anxiety for his safety was blinding her away from logical explanations and even if she knew he was right, her heart couldn’t simply accept all this.

 

**30\. one headcanon about this OTP that mends it**

I thought about Twitch staying mad until he comes back, but I imagine her coming to an understanding that it would be better to set her temper aside and acknowledge Doc’s decision. Also, she knew that Doc would beat himself up for making her mad, and allow guilt eat him up during the entire mission without any apparent end period.

“Gustave,” She called out the name that she will miss dearly, “Sorry that I lashed out on you like that. It felt like I am sending you off to a foggy land without seeing what’s in front of us. You made me a promise to stay strong, so I’ll trust you on that.”

“Don’t worry. They gave me an office job,” He wasn’t _completely_ wrong about that one, “But I’ll also be on the field too, so I won’t get too chubby either.” Then a truth, just to make himself feel less guilty.

“That’s good. I know you prefer to be out there rather than trapped in a room,” She hugged him tight, clung onto the back of his shirt until her knuckles turned white, “You better come back safe, like we said.”

“I will do everything within my power. Everything, for us.”


	12. 'Ask' Collection (Ash/Caveira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asks done for Ash/Caveira.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the original post of this ficlet.](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/183310814603/3-4-7-9-13-17-and-25-for-caveiraash) ~~I realise that most of writing done on this post is a ficlet with dialogues that I really like.~~

**3\. Most common argument?  
**

“Why are you such a cold bitch?” A loud yell echoed in the lounge room and that’s the queue for people to either leave or pretend like nothing is happening in front of them.

“I said that you don’t need to worry about it. This is my business and I can sort it out without you nagging me what to do.” Caveira taps the edge of her unsheathed pocket knife, her fingertip putting bare minimum pressure to make an indent without any actual cut.

“Stop that! You will cut yourself!”

“No I won’t! Are you my nanny or some shit?” They fidget and wrestle, hands clawing onto each others’ wrists, Ash’s legs trying to push in while Caveira’s foot flailing to push out.

“Hey,” Thermite whispers to Castle, “What is it this time?”

“Pereira ignored her family’s phone call and Eliza thinks it’s the most important thing to not miss out on.” Castle raps under his breath before either of the women overhears him.

* * *

**7\. What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?**

So. Thanks to our lovely new Six Potter, we know that Caveira and Ash has a little chasing game going on. It all began when Ash outran Caveira by using a breach charge to create a shorter route. The ecstasy of ambushing the ever-so prideful Brazilian snake was overwhelming at the time. Ash said something along the lines of “Got you now!” and she received no response from the other woman. Silent glare was nothing out of ordinary for Caveira, so Ash thought nothing of the encounter. It didn’t take long for Caveira to achieve her revenge - she simply followed Ash behind her back and took her out then.

Then on one fateful day, they didn’t chase at all. Caveira was following after the trail of an American who she wanted to do more than just pin down on the ground for an interrogation. She felt the desire to pull Ash into an embrace and hug without hurting. Ash kept looking back to see if her favourite viper was chasing her, wondering how those chilling predatory gaze became so soft and tender. All those banters and boasts they shared after the training. Every little moments they fought and competed on a shooting range. The awkward silence of side glances and false pretense in an open bay shower. The late night chats within their group or alone. They had developed feelings for each other outside of the field and sensed a weird pull for one another.

“Aren’t you going to run?” Caveira called out as she slowed down with Ash.

“Because you aren’t chasing.” Ash stopped in middle and waited to be caught up.

“Do you want to be caught?” Caveira stood in front of Ash as of this moment, cocking her head to catch a better angle to see Ash’s feverish blushing.

“Yeah.” That’s all Ash had to say. Every slow step Ash took seemed to match the heavy bumps that Caveira felt under her chest. She was captured by her favourite prey and within a second, they were hugging in rhythm.

“I’ve got you now.” Caveira stroked on Ash’s back and wondered if her words were unsuitably creepy in this context, but that didn’t pry Ash off of their embrace and that was good enough.

* * *

**13\. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?**

Caveira wanted initiate affectionate gestures because it’s always been Ash who reached out for a first hug. It could be Caveira’s turn to be the first this time. She can break out of the fog that surrounds her vision whenever there is a chance for her to be gentle, warm and loving. It’s not that hard, it SHOULDN’T be hard. Caveira gains the courage, the same kind that she gathered during her first knife fight during her teen years. She reaches out and allows her shaky hands meet her lover’s. They intertwine their fingers together and let the heat evaporate thin sheet of cold sweat in her palms.

“Hello, miss shy.” Ash winks as she pulls them closer.

“As if.” Caveira shrugs and leans against the slightly shorter woman to calm down her raging heart.

* * *

**17\. Who says I love you first?**

They are still playing the pretend hunt at this moment. Ash has scanned through the new map ‘Outback’ to find a spot for shortcuts because Caveira’s facial expression when caught off guard is too damn adorable to her biased justice. As soon as the round starts, Ash runs around all corners of the building as if she is a mad hound; she even brought extra breach charges instead of flash bangs just for this occasion. And yet there’s no sign of this damn woman. Where is she? She can’t disappear into a thin air. Where is she hiding? Ash pants in excitement and thirst for the most special presence in her life, her heart remembers the special kind of flutter whenever she caught a glimpse of plaited brown hair flickering in the corner of her eyes.

Then Ash hears that familiar noise that isn’t so dreadful anymore. The faint pops accompany mild stings on the back of her knees, forcing her to collapse on the floor. The faux-health monitor also indicated that she was perfectly ‘downed’ for an interrogation.

“Got me now, huh?” Ash flashes a smile of joy.

“No,” Caveira kneels down and Ash expects a rubber dagger under her chin, “I’ll have you for a lifetime,” The Brazilian rubs a strand of amber red between her fingers and leans in for a kiss, “I’ve got your heart, so I will give you mine. Love you, you rash dumbass.”


	13. 'Ask' Collection (Doc/Caveira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asks done for Doc/Caveira.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the original post of this ficlet.](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/post/183159244043/2-4-5-10-13-14-for-caveira-and-doc-please)

**4\. Favorite non-sexual activity?**

Caveira visits Doc’s office most of the time to sharpen her blades and clean ‘luison,’ inside and out. She goes through her maintenance delicately, and either reads a book or watch something on her phone until Doc is finished with his workload. They go out for a walk in the park or forest, and one day Doc notices that sometimes he hears one set of footsteps rather than two. It mesmerises him that she is honing her own skills despite them having leisurely moment without being in the base. Out of curiosity, he asks “Can you teach me that?”

“What?” Caveira seems confused at first.

“How to be so quiet.”

“Hm,” Caveira walks around Doc in circle, judging him up and down, “I’m not sure if you have a knack for this kind of stuff, rich boy. Anchors don’t need to be stealthy anyway.”

“It’s quite fascinating to see and experience, wouldn’t you agree?” Doc shrugs off the snarky remark.

“It’s not a cheap thrill, babe. You’d rather be thankful of your position, safely tucked away in the defending point.” Caveira huffs and lightly nudges Doc on his chest; then rolls her eyes when Doc holds her hand to gently pull them closer.

“How about this. I would like to walk around the defending point quietly so the attackers can’t figure out where I’m hiding. So I can be extra safe, being tucked in and all. Like, hm, one of those snapping turtles.”

“A what?” Caveira tries to hold her scowl a bit longer, but those tightly shut lips couldn’t contain the uncontrollable chuckle. The image of well-geared Doc in his broad grandeur, and having that compared to an aggressive turtle jerking its head in and out to bite whatever out there. It’s weirdly awkward, random and adorable at the same.

“I think that’s a good enough reason for a private lesson.” Doc’s grin widens in pride for cracking the stern facade that his lover often wears. She feels the urge to disrupt those silly curls on his lips with a ferocious kiss, but that will be after admitting she agrees with his point.

“Alright, smartypants. We start tomorrow.” And that adds to the list of non-sexual activities they share.

* * *

**13\. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?**

Doc constantly reached his hand out for Caveira whenever she was sitting down on the floor. Let it be out in the battlefield, gym or even obstacle ranges. He would be there to offer a hand, no matter how many times she ignored it. Caveira stood up glared at him, to which he returned the hostility with a grin and respectful nod. The glare softened when they became a couple but she continued to refuse the offer.

That was until when they trained at Chalet during winter. She vaulted out of the window for a quick ambush, and that was proven to be a rash decision as she got downed. In the corner of her eyes, she saw Doc vaulting out as well to give her the stim shot. _Foolish man. Why do I love this sheep of a guy?_ She thought as he quickly aided her.

“Come on, let’s get back.” Caveira was about to vault back and noted how the snow was slippery under her foot. Just as she looked back to warn him of the slip, her eyes widened at the sight of Doc faltering backward, ready to fall from the ledge they were standing. Everything rolled in a slow motion where his surprised expression distorted into primal fear, and his hands were reaching towards her in dire need. There was no need for a thought; Caveira held onto the window ledge and threw the other arm to her lover. She grunted at the hard tug on her chest and shoulders, a relief that she caught him. They were thrown back inside thanks to some strength and leverage, or perhaps Caveira’s adrenaline induced panic.

“Do you even think?!” She yelled without caring whoever might be around, “That fucking stim can’t save you from cracked skull!”

“I can say the same about you! Whatever you did was way too risky.” Doc didn’t shout but his whisper was course from toning down his annoyance. They argued incessantly throughout the whole defending phase, which resulted in giving away their location and getting shot. To whoever attacked them, they could see the couple tightly gripping their hands with white knuckles until they were forced to retire. And they didn’t seem to even notice what they were doing.

[When Capitão heard what went down between Caveira and Doc, he taunts her by saying “Holding your man’s hand unless he is in grave danger? I remember a telenovela that my _mamai_ used to watch.”

“Fuck you, old man! Fuck. You.” And this is why Harry assumes that they are on bad terms ;)]


	14. Atención! (Jackal/Doc)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The requested prompt is "You fainted, straight into my arms. you know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes."

On the third night of seeing their bed cold and barren, Jackal took a deep breath and spent another night awake alone. Contrary to his dire desire for comfort and affection, the Spaniard had been waiting rather patiently because he knew what kind of a person his lover is. Never once he complained or pried Doc off from that darned table, or drag the man away from messily piled papers that needs individual attention. He wanted to be a dependable partner. Doc was always there for Jackal whenever he suffered from unseen pain, so it’s only right to support a workaholic by giving him a cup of blackest coffee once in every three hours, right?

However, there had to be a line drawn when this kept going on for a week. It became painfully clear that Doc’s involuntary episodes of insomnia ate his sanity away and Jackal felt guilty for allowing this to happen. He couldn’t stand the depth of bags under Doc’s eyes, how it sinks low and dark with exhaustion. Therefore when Jackal walks into the infirmary, he carries no warm mug of caffeine this time. It’s easy to find a disheveled figure tipping his toes to reach a ring binder that’s stacked on top of a shelf; a sight Jackal would normally find adorable if his heart isn’t aching with pity and tinge of melancholy.

“May I?” Jackal grabs the ring binder without waiting for Doc to answer.

“Thank you,” Doc nods in gratitude, “And sorry for making you wait. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping tonight.” An excuse, but a genuine one. The kind of reasoning that Jackal can’t get mad at because everything Doc does has a noble cause. Then what good is a ‘noble cause’ when it does more harm than good to his beloved?

“I think you should.” Jackal puts the ring binder away from Doc’s reach.

“Ryad, you know I can’t do that now. I have things to do.”

“Nope. Not tonight.” Height advantage is quite useful, especially when Jackal brings Doc’s head close to his heart. Perhaps the restless French can listen to his steady heartbeat and ease into the rhythm, the same kind they share on lazy Sunday morning under a cosy duvet.

“Ryad!” Doc moves away from Jackal. The unexpected harsh force is far from hurting Jackal, and yet the nudge leaves a bruise beyond rib cages and muscles, “I need to finish this before it’s too late. Go back to bed,  _ amor _ .”

“You can’t be serious.” Jackal feigns a frown.

“I am. Pardon me but I need to be alone. See you in the morning.” Doc returns to his desk without giving Jackal a second glance, as if he expects the man to show himself out. Would Jackal listen? Nay. He sneaks right behind Doc, uses his palms to cover those reddened eyes and proceeds to gently tug the head back. It’s a mild surprise to feel no resistance; perhaps Doc is tempted to give up and comply.

“It’s okay to sleep, you know. No one will say a thing for having one night’s good sleep. I mean, if someone complains,” Jackal holds a chuckle when Doc’s mouth gape in slight protest, “I can say that you fainted straight into my arms, you know?”

“If you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes,“ Doc murmurs, “Not gonna lie, it’s a little bizarre to see a fully grown man being playful like a prepubescent boy.”

“Prepubescent-” A light bulb sparks on top of Jackal’s head, “Is that so?” Then he walks in front of Doc this time, smirking at the attention he is basking in.

“What are you doing?” Doc twirls a worn-out pen in his hand.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Jackal let out an exasperated groan, “ _ Dios mío _ , my chest hurts.” And crumples on the floor with a dramatic thud. An act, a silly one at that, but he is determined to maintain Doc’s attention.

“Aspirin’s in the third drawer.” Doc responds dryly.

“I see Faisal waving at me.” Jackal wails.

“I bet he is laughing his ass off, seeing his  _ hermanito  _ being a man-child.” The couple are way beyond the stage of being overly cautious about Jackal’s long dead brother. Throughout their romantic relationship, Jackal had described his lowest point of hallucination a quite number of times, which he tried to convert it into lighthearted childhood stories. It was a bittersweet attempt to diffuse the gloomy mood so in appreciation of such effort, Doc listened intently. He learned about the best guardian figure who was still a goofy teenager at the time, so it would be true that Faisal is indeed chuckling at them if guardian spirits are real.

“How poor am I,” a dramatic pause to raise an anticipation, “To be in love without a reward. I shall die here. Withered and unattended, for I lack the will to live.”

“Ryad,” Doc sighs, putting an emphasis to express a fond annoyance, “Don’t say that. That’s not even funny as a joke.” The chair squeaks and footsteps draw closer to Jackal who is still laying on the hard floor. The Spaniard hides a grin as Doc kneels next to him.

“I’m not laughing. It wasn’t a joke,” Jackal’s gaze glints with yearning, “I can’t live without your love, dear.”

“Well, you aren’t  _ fainting _ . Are you?” Doc scoffs as he strokes the messy brown hair beneath, then he gasps when Jackal grapples his neck and pulls him down.

“I’m not, but you might at any moment.” Jackal shifts aside to let Doc lay on the spot that he has warmed up with his body.

“I won’t. I’ve been taking power naps and all.”

“So take a power nap with me.” A suggestion that’s too delicious to ignore. Jackal lay an arm across to offer as a pillow.

“Then you must promise to wake me up after half and hour.” Doc scoots closer and lay on those firm bicep, but both of them realise it’ll be damn near impossible. For the first time in a week, they are finally close enough to enjoy each others’ scent; a blended fragrance that reminds the tranquil moments together.

“Sure thing,  _ querido _ .” Jackal plants a kiss on Doc’s forehead with a smile. He thought about waiting on the promised thirty minutes for Doc to fall asleep, but he soon finds out that the tired medic is lulled into slumber within ten. There’s no need for them to stay here; Jackal curls his arm inward to carry the sleeping man in princess hold, and at last, the two love birds are in their comfy nest. Although there’s no guarantee that Jackal will also fall asleep, he is happy at the fact that Doc is nicely relaxed next to him. Being able to sleep is a blessing that people often take for granted, and Jackal would never want the love of his life to suffer from the same kind of agony that he faces on daily basis. Therefore they shall stay like this until the sunrise; and should Doc complain later, Jackal will say that it’s his turn to look after his lover.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut the prompt into two separate dialogues so I hope it makes sense in some way.
> 
> I also tried to incorporate a Spanish sayings about love, which reads 'Amor con amor se paga,' which means 'Love is rewarded with love.) I’ve always been a fan of adding proverbs/sayings in dialogues, so I hope that worked out in this ficlet too.


	15. Fallen in Love (Thatcher/Doc)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The requested prompt is “You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Thatcher and Doc were a sensation when people found out about their newfound relationship. Sure, Thatcher visited Doc’s infirmary more than often and Doc would sit next to Thatcher during meal time to read over some reports together. The pair had been showing positive synergy in work-related interactions, so it blew their CTU mates’ minds when they heard Thatcher calling Doc a ‘love.’ This brought questions to be asked in private.

“What do you see in him?” Twitch asked Doc over a casual dinner out.

“He’s quite the gentleman, you see.” That’s the extent of reply that Doc was willing to say.

“Maggie, do you have a hospital fetish or summat?” Smoke nudged Thatcher with a wink.

“Watch your filthy mouth. He’s more a man than you’ll ever be.” Thatcher growled and left the room.

Thus it’s apparent that they have been fond of each other for quite some time. It seemed to be a long-lasting relationship as they learned to rely and compliment each other, but not every relationship is always sunny and hunky-dory. The problem began when Doc pointed out a flaw in Thatcher’s work ethic.

Being in romantic relationship with a colleague was a steep learning curve for Thatcher. The old veteran lacked balance in work and personal life, but no one dared to tell him off on that other than Doc. As a lover and man who promotes healthy body, Doc urged Thatcher to ease up. He asked the Brit to be more relaxed of himself and the crew, and possibly reschedule the group exercises that Thatcher leads as the coach.

“Absolutely not.” Thatcher flat out rejected the suggestion and missed out on witnessing a flicker of annoyance on the corner of Doc’s lips.

“Amour, you need to watch out for your body,” Doc pushed on the subject and followed around his lover who kept walking away with a clipboard he’s not even reading on, “You can have Seamus or James to take your place for a day.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Thatcher sighed and that’s the best he could do to hide an unwarranted frustration.

“Don’t paint me a fool!” Doc cut in front of Thatcher and snatched the board away, “I’m the medic here, someone who knows about your health more than anyone else. Don’t treat me like some sort of nagging house husband!”

“I-” Thatcher’s mouth gaped at a loss for words, “You know that’s not what I meant. But this is my duty, love. Routines are meant to be kept consistent.” He waited for Doc to respond and grew irritable when met with a silent treatment. “Gus,” He reached out to hold the other man’s shoulder but got pushed away with heart-faltering harshness.

“Fine then,” Doc crossed his arms in defiance, “I’ll fulfill my part of duty.” And he walked out the room without a second glance, leaving Thatcher unsure and baffled. A sense of anxiety engulfed Thatcher as he remembered a past meaningful relationship that he had failed on, then his experience convinced him to wait it out. Let the tension simmer down before his words and actions sound genuine rather than confrontational.  _ Later. What a convenient excuse. _

-

Comes the Saturday and Thatcher is already out on the field half an hour earlier than anybody else. He stretches and flexes to shake off the heaviness that comes with old age. A mild stiffness on his left calf is a little bothersome, but he decides to disregard it. Perhaps a good run in the morning will straighten it out.

“Shake it, you lot!” He catches his SAS comrades loitering on the edge of the field and shouts at them to hurry. Men in grey shirts and shorts jog over to him, then he notices an oddball with similar attire but in navy blue. It’s his lover from the GIGN.

“Don’t be mean to him, Mike. He said that he’s here as a medical aid.” Sledge whispers at Thatcher as he walks past. Doc gives Thatcher an acknowledging nod without a word and joins Mute and Smoke to lead a stretching session.

“Are you here to drag a patient away?” Smoke’s voice is intentionally loud.

“Not yet.” Doc replies, “But I’m here for you if you need me.” Those words are meant for a certain audience but Smoke is the one who’s mostly entertained upon hearing them.

“Alright, let’s go.” Thatcher claps to divert the attention and starts to run towards the forest behind the base. A wise decision, because he might have decked Smoke on the face if they stayed on that field for too long. The other men follow and form a straight line as they go.

The plan is to have the four main SAS running alongside a line of recruit, then switch places to swap the lead and bottom. That’s how they ensured safety during the two kilometer run on bumpy paths of the thick Hereford greenery.

Thatcher runs the usual pace and the left calf begins to throb again. Fuck, no. Get better, you useless chunk of flesh. He braces on and continues to lead, but the throb worsens into an ache on every step that he takes. Thatcher groans at himself for being wrong but it’s clearly not getting better no matter how much he wishes to ignore it.  _ Perhaps he needs an assistance after all. _

After convincing himself of what needs to be done, Thatcher signals the others to swap positions. He slowly descends from the lead while putting on a straight face to maintain a speck of dignity. Then when he sees Doc on the bottom of the line, the pesky stubbornness arises again, whispering at him to act like everything is fine.

“Are you okay?” Doc huffs as he matches his pace with Thatcher’s.

“Yes.”  _ No, you idiot. Tell him. _

“You are looking uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine.”  _ Fine my arse. You feel like Satan is clawing down on your leg. _

“Mike, you are limping.”

“I said-” Thatcher faces Doc to give the man a full denial.

“Watch out!” Doc shouts out but it’s too late. Thatcher rams straight into a tree, smack across the temple and cheekbone. His vision blackens as the impact forces Thatcher to momentarily shut down.

-

When Thatcher regains consciousness, he’s laying flat on a leafy ground. There’s a burning sting on the side of his face and taste of iron sloshing inside of his mouth.

“Fuck.” Pronouncing the word itself gives Thatcher a sharp sting on the lower lip.

“ _ Merde _ , Mike,” Doc whispers while pulling out antiseptics and rolled bandages, “What’s gotten into you?” He’s quick to pour the cleansing agent and apply dabs.

“A punishment, I guess.” Thatcher winces, “For being ignorant and stubborn.”

“Stupid! I knew you’d end up like this when you aren’t fit to run,” Doc presses harder on a spot, clearly unimpressed at Thatcher who has the audacity to chuckle while being foolish, “You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“Hm. I’ll keep that in mind.” Thatcher couldn’t believe how much he adore looking up at Doc even if the said man is frowning in worry and frustration. The sight of handsomeness drenched in sparkling sweat. Call it biased or rose-tinted, but Thatcher couldn’t believe such accomplished individual chose to be with him. And he thought angels are cliche-imagery for the hopeless romantic.

“Stop talking and let me put some gauze on your lip.” Doc doesn’t give Thatcher a chance to speak a word, but no matter. Thatcher will listen to his lover this time and learn to be a better listener in the future, even if such valuable lesson had to be taught with a bit of bloodshed on a comfortable lap-pillow.


	16. Safety and Closure (Jackal/Doc)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The requested prompt is “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Jackal would’ve never guessed that he’d find comfort from someone like Doc who appeared to be naive and idealistic at a first glance. Hell, anybody with medical expertise treated Jackal as if he is a walking time bomb of a patient. He thought Doc was no different from those white collars, but that changed as soon as they began to chat more outside of work. Jackal witnessed the passion in those gentle eyes. The will to help and protect those in needs. The ambition to save everybody. The intent to kill for the righteous cause, even if his gaze grew darker from exhaustion and internal conflict. Jackal began to think that Doc was the one who needed help. He pitied the man while refusing to be pitied by anyone, and such the irony made him fall for the French who always gave him a subtle kind of special attention. The time they spent became more private, the intimacy drew their bodies closer and a kiss sealed it all. From then on, they became a pair.

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Doc said one day which was confusing at first. Think about it - it’s usually a phrase to be said while being in grave danger or survived from it, but from time to time Jackal would hear Doc saying those exact words anywhere but the battlefield. Jackal thought that he heard Doc wrong, because such phrase sounded weird and contradicting. Then as they spend more time together, Jackal came to realise and appreciate the hidden sentiment. It’s almost a whisper while they nap together and stroke each others’ hair. A reminder when Jackal jerked awake from a nightmare. A promise while they danced slowly together, especially when Jackal couldn’t hide a sting of warmth on his eyes. He had come to understand that Doc is a man who wishes to capture compassion in life. Those reassuring words gave Jackal a hope that he had forgotten a long ago, and perhaps he could knew that this has been his way of showing devotion.

“Will you let me keep you safe as well?” Jackal asked when he felt the timing is right. He had prepared a pair of rings for them to wear if Doc feels the same way, only if the commitment is mutual. He didn’t expect the other man to freeze is dead silence with widened eyes, then a sigh of relief.

“Of course,” Doc quivered and yet his voice filled with determination, “I’ve sworn to do that ever since we were meant for each other, Ryad.” They shared a hug, an embrace so close where they could feel each other's’ heartbeats.

“That’s good. We’ve got each other.” Jackal smiled as he planted a kiss on Doc’s temple. They’re safe now and will always be, as long as destiny grants them such fortune.

-

Doc’s initial impression on Jackal was neither positive or negative. He had heard about the Spaniard who’s infamous for having multiple of complications, as well as a certain type of anger that fuels a man in the military. To Doc, Jackal was a miraculous survivor with a heart of steel that’s slowly beginning to crack. The most vulnerable type of patient and yet a hero to admire. Therefore when Doc found out that Jackal stays up late until the sunlight, he became worried and approached the man. Although Jackal sat in an armchair without any visible movement, it was apparent that he was far from being relaxed. Doc saw a man who’s ready to leap out at any given moment and tense knuckles gripping tight on the edge of the chair.

“Mind if I sit here?” Doc asked.

“Sure.” Jackal replied. Their earliest interaction didn’t have much content, but as they continued to meet up at odd hours of early morning, Doc found himself talking more about his life-long goal. Jackal was a good listener as if the man craved a meaningful interaction, and that gave Doc a sense of validation in what he set out to do.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m truly saving lives by being on the battlefield,” Doc muttered on one of those melancholic nights, “If there’s anything that I can do to stop killing altogether.”

“People die no matter what. But we’re here, alive and well. Safe and sound,” Jackal sat closer and recalled on what Doc had said before. He reiterated the preciousness of life and the courage to defend the right to live is a difficult and noble path, “Don’t you forget what you do. Don’t forget for those who appreciates what you do.” And Doc remembered those exact words; they were engraved in his heart and from then on, it became a chant that influences the special bond between them. He came to rely on a friend rather than a patient, than a lover rather than a friend. Alas, the rest is an unforeseen future that we’d love to paint a happy romance.

 


	17. Things to Deal With (Thatcher/Doc)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The requested prompt is “If you go anywhere near them, you’ll have to deal with me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the ficlet’s purpose, I will change ‘them’ to ‘him’ so it fits in the story :D

A ring. An accessory that’s molded out of unreasonably expensive metal and a shiny gem ingrained on top. Such luxurious object is supposed to represent an undying and eternal devotion. _See right here, Beatles._ Money can buy love. Here’s the proof of materialism representing an abstract concept.

That’s what Thatcher thought when his hair had hardly any whites and his skin still smooth with less wrinkles. And that’s one of the many reasons that his ex-wife listed before she shoved a divorce paper on his chest. She said he never knew what she wanted. Apparently he had no sentimentality, no mellow romance and most of all, no appreciation of what she did while he was away. For the longest of the void, he wondered if she meant more money. It took him quite a while to snap out of the self-lying delusion to justify that he wasn’t the wrong one in the relationship. She was absolutely right; Mike Baker was a stone of an expressionless oaf. He was wrong to not show how much he loved her. It was the most bitter pill to swallow.

Therefore he had decided to not repeat the same mistake. Thatcher refused to be the same kind of daft bloke who loses what he holds dear. He swore to be more caring and affectionate ever since Doc graced him a loving company, and by Gods he may have acted ridiculous and downright awkward at times. Even the stiffest hugs in public and one-worded synonyms for love made Doc’s eyes sparkle with joy, so that tells a lot about how understanding Doc has been. This leads to the decision that Thatcher would die to spend his eternity with such a wonderful human being. He is willing to intertwine his lifespan with someone else’s, a fleeting attempt that he had tried once before. A risky journey once again, so he’ll have to find the right moment or plan something special to kneel down in front of Doc, and then confess his willingness to be the rightful husband.

“Is that a  _ring_?” A familiar tone of mockery makes Thatcher freeze.  _That bastard isn’t supposed to be here. They aren’t supposed to be back by now._

“Really?” A taller frame overshadows Thatcher, “Golly, you’re right! About time, I say.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing during your break.” The usually quiet lad also chimes in, uncharacteristically excited.

“Hush, you lot. Stop making a fuss out of it.” Thatcher shoves the trio away but they cling onto him for more banter.

“Aw, Maggie! I knew you had something squishy in you. Why don’t we get Doc here now?” Smoke winks an encouragement.

“No, I’ve got it sorted.” Thatcher tries to push them out of the room, eager to send them away.

“Oh, so what’s your plan?” Mute shrugs, “Dinner at somewhere fancy and slide the box across the table?”

“No.”

“Some long and arduous love letter in London Eye?” Sledge wriggles an eyebrow, accentuating the wrinkles on his wide forehead.

“Not that.”

“A surprise cockring after a good shagging?” Smoke doesn’t even get a response from any of his teammates.

“I’ll manage and that concerns none of you,” Thatcher sighs in annoyance, “Now shoo. I’ll do it when I’m ready.”

“I bet it’s something like at a boring evening tea time in the barrack lounge.” Smoke earns a few glances but when he catches wide-eyed apprehension from Thatcher, he smiles a Cheshire-grin, “I need to get him here right now.”

“Don’t you dare!” Thatcher wrings the collar of Smoke’s shirt, “If you go anywhere near him, you’ll have to deal with me!”

“Try me, Maggie. Bet your joints will fail you.” Within the blink of an eye, Smoke thwarts the older man’s hand off and dashes out of the room. Sledge follows to stop the rascal and Mute almost expected Thatcher to run out as well.

“Are you going to let him run loose like that?”

“Yes. I’ve got no time to deal with an idiot. And Gus isn’t even in the base now.” Thatcher checks the time on his watch and sighs in relief.

“But I would seriously reconsider your plan, Mike. Whatever you are thinking is tasteless even by my standards.” Mute states as a matter of fact and it’s hard to ignore such opinion when the youngest Brit is known to be the most tasteless out of the SAS crew. Thatcher briefly considers the London Eye option or the fine dining, but both sounded quite tacky for middle-aged adults. He could ask for an opinion from Montagne or Capitão, but neither of them are particularly good at keeping their traps shut. Tachanka is… Russian by default and Jackal would put in too much detail that Thatcher won’t be able to remember.

“Good evening.” Doc greets them as he walks past the corridor.

“Hey.” Mute replies.

“Hey, love.” Thatcher also replies while deep in thought. It takes a mere second for both men to snap out of trance and reanimate themselves into wild motion.

“Kateb!” Mute springs out of the room, pulls the French into their room and shuts the door with a bang.

“Yes?” Doc adjusts his position from being tugged like a lifeless doll.

“Hey, love!” Thatcher repeats himself while shoving the box in his pocket with such force that almost pulls his pants down, “Good to see you so soon.”

“Ah, yes. They didn’t need much help in the infirmary this time. Seems like there’s a good ratio of qualified staff and trainees there.” Doc eases into the conversation but his gaze shifts between his lover and Mute in confusion, “How are you gentlemen faring this evening?”

“Good.”

“It can get better.” Mute blurts out, which earns a piercing leer from Thatcher.

“Oh?” Doc smiles a little while putting his entire focus on the younger man who is sweating cold drops, “What could it be? I know you’re very hard to impress.”

“It’s something.” Mute continues to ramble and that makes Thatcher wonder if the guy is being painfully ambiguous on purpose.

“Please, do tell us. I’m quite curious now.” Doc leans against Thatcher comfortably, dangerously close to the bulge on the older man’s side-pocket.

“It’s-”

“Fucking hell. Where could he be?” Beyond the closed door, the same voice that annoyed the hell out of Thatcher has returned. A sense of dread washes over Thatcher and he can also hear Sledge telling his partner off for being downright nosy.

“You shouldn’t butt in like this, James. It’s very important for him and you are being a nasty tosser. What if he won’t invite you as a best man?” Sledge is known for his above-average volume while talking, “It’s better to leave the propor-” Their conversation is put on hold as Mute barges the door wide open, breaking the barrier that concealed Thatcher and Doc. There’s a mad glint in Smoke when he sees the French, but Sledge also notices the pale drainage on Thatcher’s cheeks.

“Time for pub?” Mute slaps his palm against Smoke’s mouth.

“Time for pub.” Sledge nods in mutual understanding and proceeds to drag away the flailing prankster. There’s a series of muffled swear words and interrupted ‘keywords,’ but the ruckus fades away as the trio bolt away from the scene. It’s as if a storm swept in and out; Thatcher stands stiff with Doc still leaning on him. He can feel a mild shake from the medic who is openly chuckling at this comedic chaos that happened within a span of minutes.

“You guys are surely lively.” Doc yawns as he melts into Thatcher’s embrace.

“Better than seeing them dead.” Thatcher reminds himself to not murder those fools who nearly ruined everything for him.

“What did Seamus mean by ‘best man,’ though? Is someone getting married soon?” Doc lays a question without any prior warning.

“Shite,” Thatcher let out an inaudible whisper. He contemplates on concocting a lie as a momentary salvage, but then what’s the use of stalling his confession when his feelings towards Doc is at the peak of being genuine?  _It’s time_ , “You could say that.”

“Good. I take that we’re invited then. I better send my suits for a clean.”

“Actually, we need to have a talk about that,” Thatcher can’t hide a smile that spreads with indescribable warmth. It’s all too adorable to witness his lover’s childish excitement and obliviousness. He decides to use this chance in his favour; an opportunity to ask the lover rather than failing with false guesses, “Let’s go out for a walk. Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere,” Doc pulls Thatcher’s hand that’s been hiding in the side-pocket, “Anywhere is fine as long as you’re with me.” He closes their hands together.

“I see,” Thatcher hopes that Doc thinks nothing of the sweaty palm that’s been holding the box, “Let’s visit the London Eye, then. I’ve heard it’s a good spot.”


	18. A Story for You (Bandit/IQ)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The requested prompt is “I’ve been in love with you my entire life. Ever since the day I first met you.”

“Dom,” She sounds agitated and that’s not a good sign, “Did you take my notebook again?” It’s a  _great_ sign. An opening for a playful tease that entertains Bandit to no ends. **  
**

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I’m reading a book that’s cheesier than Martello’s cooking,” Bandit stays seated and reads over the passage, “ _To be, or not to be. That’s the paradox of a cat tortured by some guy named Schrodinger._ ”

“Give it back!” IQ lunges after him and growls in frustration when he dodges her grips, just close enough to be within her reach but successfully slipping away.

“ _The greatest mystery is neither love or destiny. Existence! The concept is what humans seek as intellectual species. They search and discover. Yearn for purpose in the names of curiosity, thus science is born._  Wow, this is some loaded intro. Are you some love child of Greek philosophers?” 

IQ manages to snag his shirt and pull him down as she falls on the couch. Wrapping her legs to bind, she shoots her hand over his shoulder and snatches the notebook away, “You wish. I can be Diogenes’ favourite daughter and bite your whole head off.” 

“Oh, please,” Bandit snuggles his back between her legs, fully enjoying his newfound role as a little spoon, “We can fuck like dogs and be true to our nature.”

“You’re filthy.” She tightens those strong thighs. Such iron clamp makes Bandit cough a little and that brings a satisfactory smile on her lips.

“And you like this filthy man.” With a simple twist, Bandit faces IQ for a light peck and then rests his cheek on her shoulder. 

“Hey, don’t get comfortable. I’m still not happy with you.” Her feet pushes against his chest.

“Aw. Did I hurt your feelings?” A childish taunt. He looks even more ridiculous while hovering over her like an oversized doll. There’s no reply, but only a glare, “Oh shit. You really mean it.” Realisation hits him a tad late.

“You can hop off now.” IQ threatens to throw him over. She jerks her hip to side, immediately shaking Bandit off balance.

“Whoa, whoa! Wait,” Bandit desperately clings on the top frame, “I’m sorry. It’s a good story.”

“Don’t lie.”

 _Goddamn it. Him and his stupid mouth! She’s really mad,_  “Can I do anything to make you feel better?” One redeeming quality that Bandit has learned while dating IQ is that they both appreciate a straightforward communication. No beating around the bush. Don’t drag an argument more than a day.

“You can get off,” She pauses, “Or tell me a story.”

“A story?” Dumbfounded, He repeats after her.

“Yes. If you think you have the credentials to judge my story, I want to hear what you can come up with.”

“Can I just bow down and lick your feet? Worship you like a goddess an entire week?” Resourcefulness and creativity are separate qualities but he’s confident in both. The concern is that he may go overboard with what he can come up with, which may result in igniting IQ’s competitive flare.

“You can sleep out somewhere for a week.” IQ isn’t seeking for a negotiation. She wants her justice to be served this instance.

“Monika,” Bandit finally gets off and sits next to her. He ponders upon pleading once more, but her stone cold gaze forces him to reconsider. “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll try.” 

“Good.” She leans back and hangs her arm on the back frame, fully ready to be entertained like a loyalty.

 _Stories_. The last time Bandit ever told one was for his nephew and niece. A few books of classical Andersen tales and other Disney renditions, so those are what he can associate when he hears the word ‘stories.’ Nevertheless, he must improvise or find other ways to appease his queen.

“There’s-“  _Oh, he remembers the other story he told the children before_ , “A cat who has nine lives. Here’s the story.” Hence it begins. The cat was born and lived a happy life with his family. His father used to be the toughest ranger who caught all the mice and vermin. Naturally the cat dreamt of following his father’s boots.”

“A Puss in Boots parody. Nice.” She won’t let him off the hook.

He doesn’t buy into her salt and continues, “So when the cat became a ranger, he had to find out where all these rodents came from. The ranger leaders told him to wear rat skin and trick the rodents, but the skin magically latched onto the poor cat. That’s how he lost his first life because a cat with rat skin stuck on him simply wasn’t a cat anymore.”

“And then what happened?” IQ could have teased him for making it sound similar to wolf in sheep’s clothing, and yet she lets him blabber due to an odd intrigue.

“But that’s what cat told himself to fool those rodents. He had to, or else they would have gnawed him to death. His cat life wasn’t truly dead because hey, there were eight more to spare. Years and years, he traveled the sewer and den to find all their secrets. Only then he ‘rat’ them out,” Bandit chuckles at his own pun, “And all of those rodents scattered. Scurried and scuttled.“ 

"No wonder why your nephews love you. You make it sound so dramatic.”

He nods in gratitude at such compliment, “When the cat returned to his home, his family greeted him. They saw their son looking a little different, but didn’t ask him about it. The cat felt glad because he wasn’t sure if he still had the rat skin stuck on him. Then one day, something bad happened.”

“Oh?”

“That damned skin. It was becoming alive on his back. No matter how many times the cat rolled and scratched, it didn’t come off. The things he learned as a rat haunted him until one day, it controlled his body to set a mouse trap. That trap hurt his family, and that’s when the cat lost another life. The sadness was too much and he still didn’t feel like himself at all.” Bandit avert his stare for a mere second and resumes back on IQ, who’s been watching him intently.

“I feel for that cat.” She whispers and lay her head on his lap.

“Don’t worry. Something good happened because this is his lucky seven,” His fingers finds their way on the golden stream of her locks, “Because you see, another ranger team asked him to join them. They are much bigger and better, and the cat was able to find other animals who are just as cool as him. There’s a golden retriever with a shiny tag that’s so bright, it blinds the others sometimes. There’s also a magpie who’d a bit too talkative, but he thwarted off anything bad that flew to him and his friends.”

“I can actually see that,” IQ laughs at the imagery, “Who else was there?” Now she’s extremely curious.

“A goshawk. The most quick, sharp eyed and strong ranger that the cat had ever seen. There were other animals who boasted good vision, but this goshawk was smart as well.  _Intelligent_.”

“Oh, stop it." 

"The cat doesn’t lie,” Bandit scoots closer. He extends a hand to suggest a hold; and when she accepts, he gently tugs to invite her into an embrace, “I’ll let you know that he really wanted to get close to the goshawk. But he didn’t know how to do that, so he resorted to pranks. Like the ones he used to do before the rat skin consumed him.”

“Sometimes that cat pulled on her feathers and she didn’t like it one bit.” IQ pokes him in the ribs while leaning against his chest.

“He knew,” A grin spreads as he remembers those times when IQ got mad at him for stealing her spanners, “But that’s all he could do to gain her attention. Goshawk flew too high and mighty while a cat can only climb up on roofs.”

“So the goshawk flew lower,” The moment she found how he felt about her, IQ didn’t shy away, “Because she wanted to know what he saw in her.” Those days when the two began to hangout more outside of work. Talking until sunrise and often fighting over petty matters. Fond memories are still fresh in their mind as they share the warmth together.

“And now the cat has met someone so precious on his seventh life, he wanted them to last long. So in a way, he thought it would be a good idea to pledge his remaining life to her. He would tell her,” Bandit buries his nose on her neck, “ _I’ve been in love with you my entire life. Ever since the day I first met you._ ”

“Dominic-” Her mouth gape while all spectrum of emotions coursing through her. The word itself is an overplayed cliche from cheap romance novels, but to have someone declaring love for her is different than what she expected, “This- this is a great story.”

“I’m glad you like it. Am I forgiven now?" 

"Yes you are,” She shifts to mold her body into his, “You goof." 


	19. 5 Things about a ship (Warden/Pulse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is meant to be something short, but kinda turned into a mini-collection of ficlets. I like how this turned out, so I wanted to archive it here! You can check out other ships for '5 Things to ask' from this link  
> [here.](https://grain-crain-drain.tumblr.com/tagged/ask)  
> 

  1. When Pulse first saw Warden, he didn’t approach. The man from Kentucky appeared friendly and charming, but Pulse recognised a mask. An act that bore no ill intention, and yet it seemed to help Warden to persuade the others to do as he bid. It’s similar to his own mother, the only person that Pulse could never figure out. Except his mother wasn’t the manipulative type; no, she was a careful watcher. While Warden wore his mask without being subtle or discreet. The man is an open puzzle that invites anyone to become entertained with, but Pulse wasn’t interested in being entertained. He wanted to mess with the pieces to see what’s behind. So that’s why Pulse finally introduced himself to Warden the second time they interact minus the formality. Curiosity got the best of him and he wanted to see through the facade, find out what’s beyond the Southern hospitality. He returned the polite mannerism and invited Warden to the group gathering that Castle and Thermite organises, and Warden played along because he didn’t see any harm in team-building outings.  
  
After weeks of casual hangouts, Warden comments, “I’ve never met someone like you, Estrada.”  
  
Pulse grins, “I guess not many goes bald at my age.”   
  
Warden laughs and says, “True, you’ve got no hair. But not as bare, if I must say,” And the older man swipes his fingertips on the back of Pulse’s hand, “You don’t let me see what’s going with you. Why a young thing such as you talking to an old timer? What’s the big idea?”  
  
The questions has Pulse thinking, wondering if he’s mirroring the man in front of him.  _Maybe he takes after his own mother._ The thoughts stop when a he’s forced to return the intense gaze from Warden. Tingling sensation from the touch has him distracted. And that’s how Pulse got into a trouble _._ Warden gives him a piece of puzzle and asks to Pulse complete it for him.  
  

  2. Warden is impressed with Pulse’s work method. The younger man is calculative and precise during the missions, which are great assets to have as a renowned specialist. Warden marvels at the spontaneous judgement and creativity that Pulse carries out, which may be the similarity they share. But Warden has been more haphazard when juggling his own life. He took gambles to secure the ones he protects, but that doesn’t mean the there’s no plan. Warden’s plans are meticulous to certain degree. It has formulas and structure. It’s just that he puts himself as a variable. An element of surprise that makes things work. He hadn’t thought of abiding formations and routines, but he’s willing to support whatever Pulse comes up with. It suits his style.   
  

  3. Pulse has a switch. He flicks between work and casual outings - a cool headed motor engine and goofy and a goofy, playful man. And that attracts intrigue from Warden who usually keeps himself a smooth sailing Americanised James Bond 24/7. He then wonders if there’s another side of Pulse that can be brought out.   
  
“Estrada, how long have we been acquainted?”  
  
Pulse puts his National Geographic down and squints in deep thought, “It’s been about two months.”  
  
Warden sinks into a spot right next to Pulse. The seat isn’t wide enough give two grown men a separable space, and yet neither of them shifts to break the contact, “Would it be a bother if I call you ‘Jack’ from now on?” He awaits for a reaction, possibly flustered or baffled at the sudden advancement.  
  
Instead, Pulse nods without a flicker of change on his face, “Sure thing, Collinn.”  
  
Warden, slightly disappointed, thinks of leaving after some mild chatter. They talk about what Pulse has been reading from the magazine, then Warden catches a patch of moisture on the page. Pulse fails to flick the page over and tries to wipe off the sweat from his palms, fully indicating that he is far from composed whatsoever. Warden then flashes a smile, “Are you feeling hot, Jack?”  
  

  4. Pulse doesn’t know what to do. He’s had some experiences in romance, so of course he knows how to dance the flirtatious tango. Who is he up against? A supposed ladies’ man who embodies irresistible aura.  _But he is a men’s man?  
  
_ “Why don’t you talk him?” Castle suggests. Thermite also notes that Pulse studies the other way too much, which often clouds his judgement of the situation.  
  
Ash is concerned, “If he’s being too pushy, you can tell him to back off.”  
  
Valkyrie butts in, “Or you can make the move. Don’t make him feel like he’s got the reign over you.”   
  

  5. With all the suggestions he’s heard, Pulse conducts a plan. He walks around the base with his heart sensor and claims that it needs some testing after being ‘fixed.’ His teammates have steady heartbeats. The Spetsnaz and SAS are pumping fast like crazy because they are watching an arm wrestling match between Smoke and Kapkan. As he finds Warden, the older man is sitting still while focusing on a chess match with Maestro. Two men have their heartbeats steady when observed from afar.   
  
“Hey guys,” Pulse calls out to him, “Do you have a minute?”  
  
Warden replies as if the game loses any kind of importance, “Yes.” Then Pulse sees the change almost too immediately. Maestro’s remains unchanged while Warden’s accelerates ever so slightly, but Pulse rules it off as coincidence to not get any hopes up. Maestro brightens at the sight of the intruder,   
  
“Estrada, good seeing you! Take this man way or else he will strip me bare over some silly bet.”  
  
Warden shrugs, “Losing man can’t talk. Especially when he made the bet himself.”  
  
Pulse takes the gamble, “That’s what I’m here for,” He continues to observe the monitor, “To take you away.”  
  
The screen captures a red dot blinking rapidly and before Pulse can notice, it also enlarges as if the target is approaching.  _Warden is right in front of Pulse, staring down at Pulse’s heart sensor’s screen._  “Well, you’ve got me here,” Warden presses the machine close to his heart, “You’ve got me, fair and square.”




End file.
